Neverland
by S J Smith
Summary: What if Kimblee didn't die in the Promised Day battle? What if Grumman wasn't available to step in and take control of the country? What if the alchemists were suddenly considered Enemy Number One by the military?
1. Death

**Title:** Neverland  
**Author:** S J Smith  
**Rating:** Teen  
**Summary:** What if Kimblee didn't die in the Promised Day battle? What if Grumman wasn't available to step in and take control of the country? What if the alchemists were suddenly considered Enemy Number One by the military?  
**Warnings:** This is an alternate reality, and as such, things do not happen quite the way they did in the manga; people live, people die, people remain alchemists… There will be violence, deaths, sex, and other stuff. I've stolen Frank Archer from the 2003 anime, however, you probably won't recognize him.  
**Disclaimer:** Arakawa's world is hers. This is a tribute to her incredible work, and as such, I make absolutely no money. Likewise, I do not own any of the lyrics listed in this story as chapter headings. As I'm unsure who wrote most of the songs, the lyrics are attributed to the artist(s) who sang them.

* * *

**Prologue: Death**  
_…if you think Peace_  
_Is a common goal_  
_ That goes to show_  
_ How little you know_  
**- The Smiths, "Death of a Disco Dancer"**

* * *

The battlefield lay covered in dust, a haze still hanging in the air. Somewhere, an armored alchemist stalked across the land, but Zolf J. Kimblee sank into the dirt, choking on his own blood.

A creature that resembled a child stood above him, licking its lips. Kimblee knew Pride would take his life. The power within him would heal Pride before the homunculus ventured into Central City, to play the part that had been written for it since Father conceived of the idea of the Promised Day. As its enormous maw snapped up Kimblee, he considered his life. Beyond the pain he'd felt, he didn't regret the things he'd done. He'd wanted to see what would happen, if the homunculi would survive, or the humans. Now, he'd know for sure. And with such a ringside seat, inside the smallest of the homunculi, he knew he'd be in for a good show. Despite the blood-red interior, it was almost cozy. Certainly a place for a sinner like himself. What surprised Kimblee was there was no one else within the homunculus. Even though there were souls there, making up Pride's Philopher's Stone, none of them seemed even the slightest bit coherent. Whatever they had been, they existed only as their memories now, providing energy for Pride. Just as his life had been taken from him to bolster Pride's Philosopher's Stone, these souls remained to give Pride power.

Kimblee wondered at that, briefly, but decided it was no concern of his. Whatever happened now, it was in the hands of Pride, and the other homunculi. He was a bystander for as long as he retained his own consciousness, unable to take part in the final battle that lay ahead.

The only thing he could do was sit back, figuratively, and watch.

X X X

Winry woke, the cold, hard surface she lay on sapping at her body's warmth. From the way she wheezed, her lungs didn't seem to be working right. Her vision blurred, cleared somewhat, then blurred again, until she realized her eyes and nose were running. Fumbling with her apron, she tried to clear her eyes, at least. She wiped her nose a couple of times before giving up. It was just going to run. Whatever had happened, her sinuses were affected.

She tried to think past the headache pounding through her skull, worse than any blacksmith's hammers. For a few seconds, the recent past remained a blur, then, suddenly, her memories returned.

Her stomach protested the memory, and Winry swallowed hard to keep from puking. Pressing her fingers to her mouth, she tried to forget the horrid sensation. Her own soul had been sucked from her body, only to wind up trapped, along with millions of other souls, within a container that seemed dark and dangerous. She didn't know what'd prompted their escape, only that it had happened; the container had cracked like a too-full jar, releasing all those within from their captivity.

Hands covering her mouth, a name still escaped amidst the coughing, one that might've been deciphered as, "Ed," if there had been anyone to care. Winry clutched at her aching chest, all thoughts of Edward Elric and his little brother, Alphonse, driven from her head as she coughed again. Her head pounded in time to her pulse, beating rapidly, as if to make up for – something. Adrenaline rush, she thought, trying to push up; her elbows wouldn't lock for a second and nearly pitched her back down to the cold cement floor. Still coughing, she pushed up to a sitting position through sheer force of will.

Winry shook her head slightly, trying to clear the buzzing from her ears. Basement, she thought, she'd been hiding in the basement after she'd finally gotten back home to Risembool. Coughing again, she groaned, her hand moving up to her forehead, as if she could push the headache out of her skull that way.

Glancing around the room, her eyes lit on her grandmother's form, still sprawled on her side. Winry's heart twisted. "Granny?" She crawled across the floor, ignoring the way the concrete scraped her knees. "Granny?" A cough racked her body but she kept moving, finally reaching her grandmother. Winry laid her hand on Pinako's shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. "Granny, come on, please," she said, turning the old woman onto her back.

Half-lidded eyes stared up at the ceiling, one of Pinako's hands knotted in the blouse of her dress. Winry gulped air, fingers fumbling at the pulse point. "No, no, no, no…"

"Miss Rockbell!" She heard Sergeant Michelson scrambling across the floor.

"Granny, you have to wake up," Winry said, pressing her fingers harder into Pinako's neck. "Please, Granny."

Sergeant Michelson elbowed her out of the way, tilting Pinako's head back and clearing her airway. He blew a puff of air into her mouth, tilting his head to listen closely, then blew three more puffs. "Do you know how to breathe for someone, Winry?" She nodded jerkily as he moved down Pinako's form, starting chest compressions. "Then you'll need to give her air."

Winry bent down over Pinako, inhaling deeply as Sergeant Michelson counted out his compressions. She blew into her grandmother's mouth, wondering if the tears she tasted were her own, or Granny's.

X X X

Alphonse woke with a snort, blinking a few times. The smell inside the room struck him first, antiseptics and soap and, underneath it all, a hint of death. He licked his dry lips, his fingers fumbling along until he found the reason for the bite of pain in his elbow. Taped in place, an I.V. needle transported liquids from a bag hanging from a pole. He remembered when he'd arrived at the hospital, the doctors and nurses congregating around him like a flock of buzzards. He'd heard whispers about how lucky he was to even be alive. He wondered if they had any idea that they were the lucky ones. Their souls had been returned to them; they'd survived the Promised Day. Alphonse didn't have any idea what Father had planned on doing with his chosen sacrifices after he'd created his Philosopher's Stone and captured the Truth. Whatever it had been, Alphonse was pretty sure the chosen sacrifices would have been allowed to live, if only to prove how useless they were. Father might have eventually even ground them down into the next batch of Sins to help him take over the world.

"So, you're awake," a raspy voice greeted him.

Alphonse gasped, reveling at the sensation. "Brother!"

Swathed in bandages, his brother lay in the next bed. Edward looked lopsided with his right arm missing, but a huge smile, not his usual scary one, wreathed his face. "Yeah. In the flesh. Just like you!" Somehow, his grin grew at the stupid joke.

Alphonse blinked, feeling tears stinging his eyes. "You didn't get your arm back."

Edward waved him off. "It's okay. Winry needs something to bitch about; an arm and a leg isn't a bad price to pay."

"What else did you have to pay to bring me home?" The question hung between them for a few seconds. Alphonse found he had time to marvel over the vision of his brother, not filtered through a red haze for the first time in literally years. "Ed?"

"I'm fine, Al." The smile faded somewhat, but Edward met his eyes, and wasn't glaring, so Alphonse knew he wasn't lying. "Truth said we paid enough."

"Really?" It didn't seem like the Truth and its strange sense of propriety. "Why?"

Edward shrugged; a peculiar sort of motion with only one arm to flap. "How the hell should I know how Truth thinks?" He turned on his side so he could meet Alphonse's eyes more readily. "Let it go. We're here, together. That's what's important. And soon," his smile began warming again, "we'll be going home."

"And we'll see Winry and Granny's smiles," Alphonse agreed, and, despite how his arm trembled, he managed to reach across the gap between their beds to bump his fist into Edward's.

X X X

Winry wanted to scream at the woman on the other end of the line. "Edward Elric," she repeated, again. "Major. Edward. Elric."

"I'm sorry, miss," the woman interrupted. Again. "I'm afraid I cannot give out any information at this time."

"I don't care if you can't give out any information!" Winry only just refrained from shrieking. "I need to get a message to him!" Reining her temper in, she asked, "Is he alive? Please." Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to bite her lip to keep from sobbing. "Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. His little brother, Alphonse."

"I'm sorry, miss." The voice on the other end didn't sound apologetic at all. "I cannot take messages at this time."

Fury seemed to tinge everything red. Winry opened her mouth to blast out a response when Sergeant Michelson plucked the receiver from her hand. "Good afternoon," he said, holding up a finger to keep Winry quiet. "This is Sergeant Michelson. The code is," and he rattled off a bunch of nonsense with a straight face. "The Fullmetal Alchemist is needed in Risembool for a family emergency. There has been a death – yes." He frowned slightly. "Yes…I understand. Thank you for your time." Replacing the receiver in its cradle, Michelson turned to Winry. "I'm sorry, Miss Rockbell. No one's getting through to H.Q. right now, not even with the proper codes."

Winry wanted to pick up the receiver, no, the whole telephone kit, and throw it across the room. Instead, she nodded stiffly. "All right," she said, "all right. Thank you for trying." She'd hold the funeral alone, without the boys, because Granny and Den couldn't wait any more. Turning away from Sergeant Michelson, she walked to the stairs, heading for her room. "You two better be alive," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Granny won't forgive you for this if you aren't."

X X X

A child, more the size of an embryo than a newborn, supped rich goat's milk from an eye dropper. The older woman who fed it wiped its mouth and chin with a soft cloth before sucking up more warm milk in the dropper. They were in a small room, decorated in the ways of baby's rooms everywhere, with soft colors and cute animals decorating various surfaces.

The being who had been known Pride, or its alias, Selim Bradley, had controlled this body. Pride, though, had been beaten by a boy, a young man, an alchemist, who had cracked through the homunculus's outer shell, had crawled into the ether inside the Philosopher's Stone that made up Pride's _self_. That boy had reduced the homunculus to nothing more than this embryonic creature, something barely in control of its bowels, much less its body. This child's form housed the soul and mind of a man who had retained his personality and sense of self, beyond any other person whom Pride had swallowed up.

Now, the man thought, _now_ was the time to act.

Kimblee opened the eyes of his new, tiny body. He heard a delighted coo from the old woman, and smiled. Her delighted reaction turned to horror when his maw widened impossibly huge, larger even than the body itself. His tongue spun out of his mouth to loop around the woman like a lasso. She didn't even have time to scream before his jaws chomped twice, breaking muscle and bone and _soul_ down to component parts. As that fuel spread through his miniscule form, Kimblee used it to stretch the body, making it conform to one he knew all too well – his own figure.

Sitting up, Kimblee picked up the hand towel to wipe his mouth of the flecks of blood and splinters of bone. A movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned toward it, recognizing his own reflection. He was naked, but no scars remained of his previous adventures. Reformed, his skin retained a youthful elasticity, with no wrinkles to mar it. His hair hung loose and thick almost to his mid-back, no stray gray hairs to dull its appearance. Kimblee smiled at the mirror. "Welcome back."

Transmuting what was left of the bedding into suitable clothes took no time at all. Kimblee found a brush on the dresser and made use of it, a tie gathering up his hair into a ponytail. Sadly, he found nothing of wool or felt, to make himself a hat, but surely he'd locate something appropriate if he kept looking. Besides, it wasn't often that a man was given a second chance at life. Kimblee planned on making the most of it.

He nodded at his reflection, and made his way out of the house, using the back door. It wouldn't do to announce his presence too early, after all, not until he'd found out what had happened while he'd been sleeping.

X X X


	2. Confusion

**Chapter One: Confusion**  
_Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new._  
**Cyndi Lauper, "Time After Time"**

Major General Frank Archer peered out the window of the train car. The station seemed huge, monstrous, even, compared to the southern hub. Though he'd been to Central City in the past, never had he come to the capital in his current capacity. Gathering the file folders he'd been studying since even before he'd left South City, Archer slid them into a briefcase and latched it closed.

The door to his private cabin slid open, and he turned with a frown. "I'm coming, Captain Williams, I'm." His words died as he spotted the man closing the door behind him.

Archer didn't recognize this tall, slender man, and, while he wore military blues, there were some incongruities to his uniform; specifically the long ponytail. "I am sorry, Major General," he said, his smile definitely not meant to disarm nor to comfort. "But I could think of no other way to meet you." He placed a long-fingered hand against his chest, offering a half-bow that seemed to want a hat to tip to make it perfect. "My name is Zolf J. Kimblee, also known as the Crimson Lotus Alchemist, and I'd like to talk to you about what happened here in Central City."

Running that name through his memory, Archer dredged up something about an alchemist who'd killed off a large amount of the Ishbalan command officers. Kimblee, the mad alchemist. Yes, he'd been imprisoned after Ishbal. How was it he was standing here, in Archer's train car? And how dangerous was he?

"I have meetings to attend, Major." Archer got to his feet. "If you want to make an appointment to speak to me, I do have an adjutant who handles setting up those things." He tried to brush past the other man. Kimblee caught his shoulder in a grip, that, with just a bit more pressure, would be tight enough to bruise.

"No, Major General," he said, and his smile turned dangerous, "you really need to hear what alchemists are capable of doing. Do you know why everyone went unconscious all at once, just a few days ago?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Let me give you a hint." Leaning in close, he whispered in Archer's ear, "Alchemists."

Archer stiffened at the touch, but a cold chill ran down his spine at the idea that alchemists might've been going against the well-being of the people of Amestris. "How do you know this?"

"I am an alchemist," Kimblee reminded, releasing him with another of those smiles. This time, it seemed less malicious, and more pitying. "Even incarcerated, one hears things…and I was released from my imprisonment to take my part in what was to be the mass execution of Amestris to create a Philosopher's Stone. I don't know if you are aware of the Stone, Major General, but it grants extraordinary powers to an alchemist who knows how to make use of it."

Licking his lips, Archer asked, "And the Fuhrer was aware of the alchemists's attempt to create this Philosopher's Stone?"

"Furher King Bradley," Kimblee said, exhaling slowly, "was in league with the wrong people. He believed he protected, when actually, he destroyed. His death made him a hero, and a hero he shall remain."

Archer realized that Kimblee hadn't really answered his question, which might mean either Bradley had known what was going on, or Kimblee didn't know the answer. "And what does this have to do with me, Major?"

"I'm glad you asked, Major General. I know you were sent here to take over command for the time being, until things are sorted out. As a dutiful member of the military, as well as a loyal Amestrian subject, I must point out to you, there are alchemists who are aware of what has happened, who took part in this travesty to destroy our country, and who are currently being lauded as heroes." He leaned closer. "Who are actually enemies of Amestris, and some of them have been since the Ishbalan war."

Archer studied the slender man in front of him. "Major Kimblee, walk with me. It seems we have much to discuss."

Kimblee nodded, the corner of his mouth curling up in a disturbing way. "Yes, sir, we do."

Whether the man was an ally or a foe remained to be seen, but for now, Archer wanted the information Kimblee could provide. Alchemists, as far as he was concerned, should all be collared and imprisoned until absolutely necessary for the good of the country. That an upstart from the middle of nowhere, Roy Mustang, had risen so quickly in the graces of the military from snapping his fingers and blowing people up still rankled to a man who could no more read a transmutation circle than he could ancient Drachman. But making use of an alchemist to capture others, well, Archer thought, Kimblee could prove an excellent stalking horse, if the bait was laid correctly.

X X X

** _Excerpted report written for Major General Frank Archer, Southern Command, subsequent to the Central City Uprising, which took place in April, 1815:_ **

…The matter of the alchemists remains unresolved. Their participation in both the attack on Central City headquarters, and the Ishbalan conflict, has proven to the soldiers as well as the populace of Amestris, just how dangerous they can be…

The actual amount of deaths had been far fewer than believed, after the taking of Central City by the combined might of the soldiers of Briggs and Colonel Mustang's command. Though neither command took complete credit for the attack on Central, neither took complete blame. The invading troops, comprised of both the aforementioned commands, as well as Ishbalans, had showed some reluctance in harming those protecting Central and the current regime. According to reports, no civilians were harmed, except for the extremely elderly, and some Ishbalans who had taken part in the invasion. All in all, for a coup, it was remarkably bloodless, excepting Furher Bradley's death, which seemed to have been particularly violent, though there was no indication as to whom the Fuhrer had actually been fighting.

Archer thought things would become a lot more bloody if he were to release the information he'd received from Kimblee. For now, though, he'd take small steps forward, and work to curtail the alchemists still loose in the city.

X X X

The first hearing took place within two weeks of the Promised Day. Dr. Timothy Marcoh was tried in absentia, as he couldn't be located. Edward Elric thought Marcoh had probably gone to wherever Scar had disappeared, though he couldn't be sure. Scar hadn't been located in the aftermath of the Promised Day, either, but Edward was pretty confident _he_ wasn't dead.

Alphonse sighed in his hospital bed and Edward turned his attention from the newspaper to his little brother. It still amazed him. Alphonse lived, no longer a soul affixed to a metal shell. Alphonse could eat and smile and touch and smell and – he was _whole_, finally.

"You're doing it again."

"What?" Edward folded the paper, dropping it onto the chair next to his thigh.

"You've got that stupid smile on your face." Alphonse rolled his eyes. "It's kinda creepy, to see you looking at me that way."

Edward had to make himself scowl in reaction. "I can't smile at you?"

"Not like you're a dopey, love-sick idiot!" Picking at the sheet, Alphonse grinned slyly. "If you're going to look at someone like that, shouldn't it be Winry?"

Realizing his mouth flopped open, Edward snapped it closed. "Fine," he grated out, "I just won't look at you at all, if that's what you want!"

Alphonse's grin broadened. "I'm just saying." It sounded like a protest. Maybe. But not really.

"You're an ass." Edward pointed his folded newspaper at Alphonse before slapping it onto the bed.

"Me? I'm not the one who's staring at his little brother like he's going to eat him up." Shuddering, Alphonse flipped his sheet. "Seriously, Ed. Cut it out."

"Fine!" Edward folded his arms, or tried to; the doctors had removed his automail arm when he'd come into the hospital. He'd been informed there was no hope for the prosthetic, and that he ought to get in touch with his mechanic sooner rather than later. While the idea had some merit, Edward really didn't want to get into it again with Winry in a hospital. How many times would that make it? Three? Briggs counted, as far as he was concerned. That crazy Briggs doctor and the even crazier mechanic up there had to be dating or something, the way they worked hand-in-hand.

Alphonse broke into his thoughts with a quiet, "Brother?"

"Yeah, Al?" Edward rose halfway out of his chair at Alphonse's expression. "What's wrong? Do I need to call a nurse?"

"No, I mean, a nurse couldn't help." Alphonse took a deep breath, his brow furrowing. "Ed, you've been out there." He waved a spindly hand toward the window. "What's really going on?"

He inhaled sharply, not really expecting that question. "Well." Wishing Alphonse hadn't asked it wouldn't help matters, either. "I guess…people are scared." Edward shifted his chair, making it squeak across the linoleum floor as he pulled it closer to the bed. "Remember when I told you what First Lieutenant Hawkeye said about Ishbal?" When Alphonse nodded, Edward went on, "She said there was always a chance that the soldiers who fought in Ishbal would be punished. I guess…people are scared and they want someone to blame."

"But that's not fair!" Alphonse blurted, fisting the sheet in his hands.

Edward agreed. "No, it's not." He hesitated. "I…_we_…ought to be safe." He hoped. If they were going after the soldiers who participated in the Ishbalan War, well, Alphonse and he were too young to have been involved. But if someone in the know _talked_ about the Promised Day, they might not be safe at all.

Rounding on him, Alphonse said, "We didn't have anything to do with Ishbal. We were _kids_."

"We helped stage a coup, Al."

"We helped save Amestris – and so did Colonel Mustang!"

"Yeah," Edward nodded grimly, "but I'm not sure how much that's gonna be taken into account."

Alphonse fell silent at that, his expression mirroring Edward's. And there really wasn't much to say that wouldn't turn into a yelling match, and nurses rushing in, and Edward wasn't in the mood to put everything into words. Instead, he reached over, taking Alphonse's hand – spindly, weak, but still, _flesh and bone and muscle and rushing blood_ - giving it a soft squeeze.

X X X

Edward picked up the telephone receiver at the phone bank in the hospital hallway, considering. The bakelite felt cool in his palm, and he studied it for a few seconds. _I should call her._ The idea seemed strange. How often had he even considered calling Winry? Once, really, and that was only after Bradley threatened her. And the last time he was in a Central City hospital, after that disastrous fight in Lab Five.

He shifted in the seat, trying not to think about the last time he saw Winry; back in Risembool, while hiding out with Greelin, Heinkel, and Darius. It had been too chaotic for them to have much time alone together, at least, not beyond Winry checking over his automail. Edward thought maybe that had been for the best. If he'd had to take off his shirt, she would've seen the scar from him being impaled up in Briggs during his fight with Kimblee, and he sure as hell hadn't wanted to talk about fighting right then.

Closing his eyes, Edward leaned his head against the partition between the telephones. He wasn't sure he wanted to think about Briggs, either. On one hand, it had been horrible, and he'd nearly lost his life. He'd had to let Winry go with Scar, something he'd hated, even if it had been the only way to keep her safe. Alphonse and he had been separated. The sudden, surprising shock of realizing his body was failing, and the desperate thing he'd done because he had to survive. "I couldn't let you cry," he murmured, as if Winry could possibly hear him, "not over me, not over something so stupid as falling onto a piece of rebar."

On the other hand, some things that happened in Briggs had been real eye-openers. On the run from Kimblee and his goons, before they'd all wound up going in different directions, hiding out and nearly freezing, it hadn't been the time or the place for what happened, but it sure as hell beat freezing to death. Wriggling on the hard chair, Edward tried to turn his mind on anything else, but kept remembering the way Winry had looked in that icy room, nearly naked, straddling his hips.

They'd been hiding out in an empty upstairs apartment, Alphonse taking the living room, and Winry and he holed up in a bedroom. Without any heat, and no way to light a fire that wouldn't attract someone's attention, they'd spent the night burrowed into the bedding, almost literally. Winry'd actually done some research before coming to Briggs, more than he'd done, and found out that people stayed warmer skin to skin. And, despite Edward's best intentions, he hadn't been able to keep himself from touching Winry. Not that she'd minded. He couldn't remember which of them had initiated the kiss, or what followed afterward. What Edward did remember was how he'd hoped Pinako Rockbell didn't figure out what her granddaughter and he had done. Particularly not while he was hiding out under the old hag's roof. She might've castrated him, and that was only if he was lucky. If Pinako had been feeling cruel, she'd have just _teased_ him, the way she did. Edward groaned, running his hand down his face. The old hag could've really gone on while the other guys were around, and made sure he'd never hear the end of it. It was a damned good thing Pinako didn't know.

Grimacing, Edward tried to put those thoughts out of his head, too. At least thinking about the old hag meant his stupid dick wasn't going to react like it would if he'd kept thinking about Winry. Yeah, he knew he should call her, sooner rather than later. Looking at the coins laid out in a row on the counter, he groaned. It ought to be fucking easier than this to ring her up.

"Oy, Boss."

Startled, Edward let out a yip. The receiver spun out of his hand, banging into the ledge before spilling off and crashing onto his knee. "Damn it, Breda!"

Breda cocked an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth tilting up. "You remember we're in a hospital, right?"

With a growl, Edward snatched up the dangling receiver, and slammed it into its cradle. "Yeah, I remember!" he snapped. "What are you doing, checking up on me?"

Whatever humor had been in the older man's expression faded. "The boss wants to see you," he hesitated, and the corners of his mouth went down at the inadvertent choice of words. Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, Breda added, "If you're not busy."

An audible sigh escaped him, but Edward nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." He followed Breda through the halls, ignoring the looks he got. The nurses were all so weird. They reminded him of Mei, a little bit, the way they stared and giggled behind cupped hands. He twitched his shoulders, thinking Winry would laugh about it. Hell, Al would, too.

Breda pushed open the door to a double room, ushering Edward through. "Found him," he announced, then stepped back out of the room. The door nearly hit Edward's ass as it closed automatically.

Skipping sideways, Edward swallowed a curse, especially since he heard a soft snicker. He glanced toward the bed, clenching his hands for a second, trying to get control of himself. The bastard still couldn't see a damned thing, so how the hell did Mustang seem to know what'd just happened? "Well?" he snapped out.

"You are just as charming as ever, Fullmetal," Mustang said. He sat on his bed with his legs folded, tailor fashion. His eyes were still grey and pupil-less, and Edward didn't look at them longer than he had to. Hawkeye sat in the chair nearest the window, and he thought briefly she looked a lot better than the last time he'd seen her. The color was back in her face, though her throat still looked raw from the surgery scars.

She smiled at him warmly. "What he means, Edward, is thank you for coming."

"Did I have a choice?" Edward grabbed the other chair, dropping into it noisily. "Colonel Bastard's still my boss."

"That's part of what I wanted to see," absolutely no irony in Mustang's voice, and Edward gave him some mental points for it, "you about." He leaned his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together. "You are aware of the unpleasantness happening within the military ranks?"

Biting back a snide retort that would just hide what he was actually feeling, Edward sighed, running his hand over his bangs. "Yeah. I read about Marcoh's trials in the paper today."

"Then you know that this is serious, Edward." Mustang turned his sightless eyes directly on him, making Edward want to squirm. "All of those who participated in Ishbal are targets, which means that I will be tried eventually."

"You were just obeying orders," Edward growled, his hand fisting tightly.

"We knew this might happen," Hawkeye reminded him in her low voice.

"But it's not." Biting his tongue, Edward kept himself from saying 'fair' out loud. First Lieutenant Hawkeye had told him that before, when he'd returned her gun. "Damn it!"

"Edward." The sound of Mustang saying his name cut through his anger, though Edward realized the colonel had spoken a few times. "I have your discharge paperwork. It needs two witnesses. Hawkeye can be one, Breda the other."

"What are you saying?" Edward almost didn't recognize his own voice, strangled as it was.

"I believe you're intelligent enough that I do not need to answer your question, Fullmetal, but I will." He inhaled through his nose. "At this point, it is dangerous to be a State Alchemist in Central City."

Shaking his head, Edward said, "Al can't leave the hospital. He's not…not ready yet. He needs time to heal. He can barely feed himself, much less walk!"

"Which is why I've made arrangements with a mutual friend of ours to take care of your brother."

Edward bridled. "What friend?"

"Edward, lower your voice," Hawkeye admonished.

He bared his teeth but didn't say anything more, waiting to who this friend was.

Mustang's mouth flattened into a thin line. "I know you are not interested in using a Philosopher's Stone, Edward, but at this point, it may be your only chance to get your brother out of Central City."

Eyes widening at the realization which alchemist had a Stone, Edward wanted to argue, to protest, to say that it wouldn't get that bad. That Alphonse would have time to heal and would walk out of the hospital under his own power; but the tension radiating from Mustang to Hawkeye and back again made him think differently. Taking a deep breath, Edward let it out slowly. "I'll have to talk to Al," he said, as if he had any choice otherwise. "I can't make the decision for him."

"If you need help convincing him, let us know," Hawkeye said.

How was it she could still smile? Edward wanted to scream at her, maybe scream at everyone in the hospital, that this couldn't happen. Alphonse had told him how Hawkeye'd threatened to suicide when she'd thought Lust had murdered Mustang. If the bastard was tried and put to death, Edward didn't doubt Hawkeye would follow him. How the hell was he supposed to deal with that? "Thanks," he got out as Hawkeye opened a folder and beckoned him closer. Scanning it, he realized his discharge papers had already been signed by Lieutenant General Grumman. He didn't want to ask how, since Grumman hadn't woken up from losing his soul during the Promised Day. "I shouldn't."

"You joined the military because I coerced you into it," Roy said, startling Edward into looking over his shoulder at the man. "You were a confused child," he ignored Edward's growl of disgust, "and your reason for joining was to find a way to restore your bodies. You have your brother back, Fullmetal. It's time for you to get out of the military, now, while you still have that chance." That it was too late for him and Hawkeye remained unspoken.

"There are still things," Edward began.

Mustang cut him off with a chopping motion of his hand. "There is nothing you can do about it, Edward. You don't have enough clout to stop any of this."

Gritting his teeth, Edward picked up the folder. "Can I look at this and think it over?"

Hawkeye and Mustang seemed to exchange a look, despite the colonel's blindness. "Don't think too long on it, Edward."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." Closing up the folder, he tucked it under his arm. "And I'll talk to Al about the other."

Hawkeye cleared her throat, wincing, her fingers stroking the scar on her neck. "Don't take too long, Edward. You know there are people waiting for you."

Mouth tightening, Edward grunted, wishing she hadn't brought that up. Nearly everyone else had come out of the Promised Day okay, right? The same ought to hold true for Winry and the old hag. Squelching that worry and slamming it down in the same place he'd hidden his concerns and fears about Alphonse's body, Edward managed a tight grin. "Yeah." He wished he could tell Hawkeye the same thing. Did she even have any family, or was she like Alphonse, Winry, and him? He really didn't know anything about either Hawkeye's or Mustang's lives outside of…this. "But you can't give up. Al and I didn't!"

Mustang tilted his head. "No, neither of you did. You should be commended for that."

"So that means you can't give up!" Edward pointed a trembling finger at Mustang, clamping the folder tighter under his arm. "You wanted to do what's right for this country, didn't you? Rolling over and letting them shoot you like a dog isn't going to do it."

His grim smile startled Edward. "You are correct, Fullmetal, but this country also needs to heal." When he tried to interrupt Mustang, he said, "I believe that is all I want to say on the subject at the moment. Go take care of your brother. Call your mechanic and let her know you survived. I'm sure she'd be thrilled to hear from you."

Inwardly, Edward squirmed. "I'll get on it."

"You should," Mustang said, his expression softening. "Now that you've accomplished your goals, Edward, you need to take some time for yourself."

He heard what Mustang wasn't saying out loud. "I'll talk to Al." Edward flapped the folder against his side, wondering what he should say. If there was anything he could do to change their minds. Hawkeye smiled at him, the particular curve of her mouth reminding him, inexplicably, of Mom. "Yeah." Spinning on his heel, he shoved his way out of the room, breathing as hard as if he'd run up ten flights of stairs.

X X X


	3. Emptier Than Zero

**Chapter Two: Emptier Than Zero**  
_When you're gone,  
I never land  
In Neverland_  
**Marillion, "Neverland"**

The rattle of the dirt hitting the top of the wooden coffin startled Winry out of her daze. Her hands ached from clenching her fists so tight, and her blunt nails cut into her palms. A breeze stirred the ends of her hair. The scent of flowers people had brought to the gravesite warred with the familiar, underlying stink of sheep. A rough blanket of grey clouds swept in from the north, and lightning flickered amongst them. In the distance, Winry could see sheets of rain, and knew that later today, the storm would move into Risembool.

Pinako's mourners numbered almost all of the local countryside; old and young came to her funeral. And a few out-of-towners, too – Paninya and Mr. Garfiel had come from Rush Valley. Without Mr. Garfiel's familiar, sweet-smelling bulk beside her, Winry thought she might have collapsed days ago. Both he and Paninya had showed up after she'd called his shop, partially to explain where she'd been for the past many months, partially to check on them, and make sure they were okay, too. Paninya had bad news – Mr. Dominic hadn't woken from the Promised Day, either, and Winry's heart had sunk even farther, that another great mechanic was gone.

Winry couldn't remember if she'd invited Mr. Garfiel and Paninya, or whether Mr. Garfiel told her he was coming. She wasn't sure she remembered very much from the point of the time she'd realized her grandmother wasn't going to wake up. Oh, the calls to Central City, she remembered those, but only as additional stabs of pain.

After the ceremony, people came up to Winry, some offering hugs or handshakes, others giving her sad looks. She heard whispers that maybe they didn't want her to hear, or maybe they did, that the brothers should've been here. She couldn't tell them how much she agreed.

"Thank you for coming," she repeated, "there's food back at the house, if you want to join us." There was food, and more food – sawhorse tables had to be made for all the food people had brought in honor of Pinako Rockbell.

Finally, the cemetery was empty of spectators, except for Mr. Garfiel, Paninya and her. "Honey," Mr. Garfiel said, laying a broad hand delicately on her shoulder, "Paninya and I are going back to the house to make sure everything's all right there. You want to stay here a little while?"

"Yes, sir. But I'll come home soon."

"All right," Mr. Garfiel said, squeezing her shoulder, "don't stay away too long."

Stepping up to her, Paninya patted her on the back awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

Winry gave her a weak smile, but didn't watch as her friends left. She walked slowly around the grave. Mr. Carter said he'd have the headstone installed within a week. Right now, her grandmother's final resting place was marked by a mound of earth covered over with flowers – some lilies, some roses, some daisies, some tulips. Spring flowers, pulled or cut from everyone's yards or along the paths through the countryside. There were even some sprigs of lilac, the lavender standing out in all the white and red and pink. Winry touched the petal of one of the roses, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. The velvety texture made her think of Granny's hands – they were always so hard, but she made sure to put lotion on them every day, so her skin remained soft.

The ground came up to meet her knees. Winry caught herself on her hands, her forehead nearly touching the mound of flowers. Bile flooded her mouth and she turned her head to spit it out, narrowly missing a pair of brown shoes. With a little shriek, she dodged sideways, twisting her neck to look up, and up.

"Winry, are you all right?" Mr. Hohenheim asked as she sat back on her heels, staring at him in disbelief. "Here." He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, offering it as he squatted next to her.

"Thank you, sir," she replied automatically, but couldn't tear her gaze off his face. It looked strange, like it was melting, or maybe parts of it were sliding off, reminding her of blocks of sandstone falling away from a cliff.

Rearranging one of the flowers on the mound, Mr. Hohenheim said, "I'm sorry I missed the funeral. Your grandmother was always my friend."

"You were hers, too." Wiping her face, Winry folded the handkerchief, offering it back, but Mr. Hohenheim waved it off.

"You'll get more use of it than I will at this point, dear." He smiled crookedly, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I wish I could've brought the boys with me. I know they'll be sorry they weren't here for you."

"They're alive?" Her heart crashed against her ribs, as if to break out of the bones caging it, and fly free to wherever Edward and Alphonse were.

Mr. Hohenheim blinked at her. "Didn't Ed call? Al has his body back. He's terribly thin, though; weak, too. And Ed's arm was destroyed; he'll need a new one." Shaking his head, he said, "Foolish boys, not calling…I'm afraid I've been a terrible influence."

Not sure if she'd laugh or cry over that, or the news that the brothers were alive, Winry covered her mouth with her laced fingers. "They're alive," she repeated, tears stinging her eyes.

"Yes, in Central City. I'm afraid I left them again." He tilted his head to look at her over the rims of his glasses. "I was not a good father to them, Winry. I know that. I did what I thought was best – leaving them alone with their mother to try to stop everything that happened." His hands swept around, a jerky, aborted gesture, as if it was his fault the Promised Day occurred. "What good in them came from Trisha, and from your grandmother's teachings, I'm sure of it." Patting her shoulder lightly, as if he thought any more pressure might make her fly apart, Mr. Hohenheim said, "Things are still bad here in Amestris, Winry. Go to Central City. Go now, get my boys, and make sure they're safe. They wouldn't listen to me. Well, Al might, but Ed." He shrugged. "And I'm dying now. I won't be of any more help to anyone."

As he spoke, more bits of his face flaked away. Winry had to turn her head, to keep from staring. "I…have to take care of Granny…the shop."

His fingers tightened on her shoulder. "There isn't much time, Winry." His free hand dug in his pocket, and, withdrawing a wallet, he thrust it at her. "Go. Go now to Central City, and keep my sons safe."

"Mr. Hohenheim…"

"Don't argue with me, Winry. I'm a dying man – dying men always get their last wish, don't they?" How could he smile so charmingly while saying such things? "My wish is for you to be with my boys, and convince them to leave Amestris."

"But this is our home." Winry clutched the handkerchief and the wallet together, squeezing the worn leather of the wallet tight.

"What is going to happen here…what I can see happening, Winry, will not make it safe for my sons, and, subsequently, you." His eyes, so much like Edward's in coloring, though nothing like them in expressiveness, met hers. "Go to Central. Please."

Winry shivered, feeling the chill blowing in from the approaching storm. "Ed and Al changed the world once. What makes you think they won't be able to do it again?"

A little more of Mr. Hohenheim's face sanded away. "Because, last time, they were fighting monsters. This time, they're fighting humans, and whatever Ed may be, he is no killer, no matter what threats he makes."

She knew Mr. Hohenheim spoke the truth – Edward wouldn't have been able to kill Scar, despite what he'd said. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she whispered, "But everything's here."

Mr. Hohenheim gave her shoulder a shake. "What matters more, Winry? A bunch of possessions, or Al and Ed?"

Watching his skin slough off, leaving a hole next to his cheekbone, Winry had to turn away for a second. She didn't want him to see horror in her eyes. "Ed and Al."

"Then take that money and go." A smile made a creepy caricature of Mr. Hohenheim's face. "Oh, and before I forget, give this to Al." Digging into his pocket again, he pulled out a vial. Inside the tiny jar, a viscous, glowing red liquid rolled about inside, reminding Winry of mercury in the way it moved. "Tell him…tell him it's mine, to give. And tell him to use it wisely. And this, this is for Ed." He passed her a small box, banded with a tight string. "He probably won't accept it. Keep hold of it until he does." Mr. Hohenheim's smile grew fonder. "I wish I could see what your children will look like, Winry."

"Children?" she squeaked.

Mr. Hohenheim ignored her outburst. "Take the boys to Liore. Someone will be waiting there for you three. And give my sons my love." The warm light in his eyes started to fade. "Go, dear. You don't want to see me…" His hand fell away from her shoulder and he slumped sideways, a soft, final breath that sounded like, "Trisha," escaping him.

Winry found she could still cry, and buried her face in her hands to muffle the sobs. Her tears soaked the handkerchief and the wallet before she could push herself to her feet, and make her way back home.

X X X

The south-facing window let a diffuse light into the hospital room. Any brighter, and Alphonse might not have been able to stand it. Edward still wanted to take his brother out into the courtyard to experience the sun for real, but the doctors seemed to think Alphonse was made of glass. If they had time, Edward thought maybe he would, too, but the urgency he'd felt from the bastard and Hawkeye made him believe a long convalescence was not in the offing.

Alphonse tugged lightly at a strand of his long hair. "I don't want to use the Stone."

"Yeah." Edward tapped his fingers on the metal bed rail. He thought of all those souls who'd been trapped to fuel Envy's body, and trembled. That memory was still too close for comfort. Even knowing Envy committed suicide, unrepentant, destroying its stone as it went, didn't change what he'd seen in that creature's body.

"And they're hunting…I mean…Dr. Marcoh's trial."

Edward wondered just how Alphonse had found out about the trial. He certainly hadn't shared that information. He'd made sure to take his newspapers with him, not wanting to upset his little brother. Had someone else, when he'd left Alphonse? Ross and Brosch had been by to visit; Breda, too, and Brosch had a way of just blurting stuff out, without thinking of consequences. Damn it!

"Ed, are you even listening?"

"Yeah!" Turning his attention back to Alphonse, Edward nodded sharply. "I know what you mean." How would Dr. Marcoh even enter the hospital if they – if Alphonse – agreed to this?

Alphonse spread his hands. "I don't want him in trouble because he was trying to help me."

Keeping to himself that people had been in trouble for helping them in the past – hell, look at Hughes – Edward grunted his acknowledgement. "I don't know, Al. The bastard said he could arrange it."

He was too easy to read. After being metal for so long, Alphonse no longer had a poker face. He couldn't control his emotions; sorrow and joy both ran rampant whenever Alphonse felt them. Now, sadness and fear clashed on his face, as well as concern. "Mr. Heinkel made me use the stone to fight Kimblee and Pride. I didn't want to, but." He nibbled his lower lip. "He said I needed to protect Amestris."

And this was a totally different situation. Edward folded his arm across his chest, still feeling lopsided without his automail. Damn it, he needed to contact Winry, but he wanted to call her with good news. That everything was going to work out, and Al and he would be coming home to her. "It's your decision, Al," he said finally. "And I know what we said."

Alphonse nodded, his hair swinging down into his face at the movement. Wrinkling his nose, he whined, "Ed, can you get a barber in here for me? I can't stand this hair any more! How do you deal with it?"

The complaint made Edward blink a couple of times before a stupid smile stretched his mouth. "Tch! You just don't want to be mistaken for me," he hooked his thumb at his chest for emphasis, "any more!"

"Ugh, like I'd want anyone to think I'm you," Alphonse groaned. "You're the shorter brother with the worse temper!"

Gnashing his teeth, Edward growled, "Am not!"

"Oh, please." Alphonse rolled his eyes, still too large in his sunken face. "You have a reputation. I don't!"

Edward snorted. "You do, too. You're the nice one." He spat out the last two syllables in a prissy tone, sounding like Winry's boss, Mr. Garfiel. "Who wants to be that?"

Not quite as sly as maybe he'd like, Alphonse said, "Winry, probably."

A direct hit. Edward flinched, narrowing his eyes. "Leave her out of it."

"You still haven't called her, have you? She'd want to know we're okay!" Alphonse goaded.

"Nng, I will, I will! I just want." He hesitated.

"You want what?"

"Better news."

Alphonse cocked his head, curious. "What's better news than us being alive, Ed?"

He seriously wished he had an answer to that.

X X X

The office had become Archer's home away from home. While he didn't use the Fuhrer's office, he'd taken over one of the larger ones on the same floor. The walls were painted stark white, with a banner of the Amestrian leocampus blazoned on it. A book shelf took up the space of the entire western wall, except for a doorway. Curtained windows covered the exterior, eastern-facing wall. He'd installed his desk under the banner, on the northern, interior wall, and the southern wall was set up as a work area for his adjutant and any others considered necessary.

Currently, Archer and Kimblee were the only ones within the office. Archer sat at his desk, studying the alchemist seated across from him. Kimblee had the appearance of a block of ice. Dressed all in white instead of a military uniform, his eyes held a faint smirk that didn't quite reach his mouth. He templed his fingers, meeting Archer's gaze over them.

"I suppose you have something to discuss, Major?"

"Oh, yes," Kimblee all but purred, getting to his feet. He prowled slowly around the corner of Archer's desk. "You've gone after the one who can't be found," he said, "now you need to go after the others."

"There aren't that many State Alchemists left," Archer said, trying not to react to the proximity of the alchemist. He'd read up on Kimblee's files, what little that hadn't been redacted, and thought the man was probably just shy of being insane. It didn't mean he couldn't be used, but Archer had the sneaking suspicion that Kimblee felt the same way about him. "You know why." A scarred Ishbalan had been systematically murdering State Alchemists over the past few years. Kimblee had tangled with the scarred Ishbalan, and, according to the medical records, had healed rapidly, far faster than his doctors could understand.

"I do know. Scar, fortunately, failed to eradicate me." Kimblee nodded slowly. "Which leaves three State Alchemists here in Central City – Flame, Fullmetal, and Strongarm."

Strongarm, Archer knew, had been sent away from Ishbal in disgrace for having a breakdown on the field of war. Major Alex Louis Armstrong remained in the military, but was considered a liability. He'd always wondered why Armstrong hadn't been dishonorably discharged, but figured his family's standing might have had something to do with it. "And you," Archer reminded Kimblee.

Kimblee smirked and took his seat again. "But I have knowledge you find necessary," he said.

Archer mentally agreed, but didn't react to the statement. Kimblee was necessary for the moment. He knew more about other alchemists than would be found in any of the files. Archer'd taken the time to read the records of how many were killed only a few years ago – the Silver Alchemist, the Sewing Life Alchemist, and the Iron-Blood Alchemist all had died at the hands of a renegade Ishbalan known only as 'Scar'. The Freezing Alchemist died, as well, but not at the hands of Scar, as far as the records went. The Crystal Alchemist, Timothy Marcoh, had disappeared after the Ishbalan War, though rumors abounded that he had been in Central City during the time of the April Uprising.

"There are two in the military hospital," Kimblee said, soft as a breath. "Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, and Major Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist."

"Elric had nothing to do with Ishbal," Archer said. He'd reviewed Fullmetal's file, as well.

"He had everything to do with the uprising, though." Kimblee had the air of a teacher with a particularly slow student. "He turned traitor during the winter prior; going AWOL."

Archer turned in his chair, hating that he had to look up at the dark-haired man. "How do you know that?"

Kimblee smiled his creepy smile. "He was supposed to be under my command. Instead, he attacked me, with the intent to maim."

"Maim?"

"Fullmetal is an anomaly, Major General. He is a soldier who sincerely wants to help people – and he refuses to kill, no matter what."

"Why would that make him so dangerous?" Archer wanted to know. He picked Fullmetal's file, opening it again to look at the identification photograph. Major Edward Elric, the youngest State Alchemist ever inducted into the military. Orphaned at an early age with his younger brother, Alphonse, both had been hurt when the Risembool train station had been blown up during the Ishbalan war. While Elric's methods were unorthodox, he seemed to get results, and the people, for the most part, admired him.

"Because he was one of the main people fighting to take Fuhrer Bradley down," Kimblee said. "He will not be one to stand aside and let cooler heads prevail." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Edward Elric will be a thorn in your side unless you pluck. Him. Out. Now."

"I would think Mustang would be the greater threat," Archer said, raising his eyes from Elric's file.

"Mustang will be easy," Kimblee said, waving off that concern. "He believes in his own guilt, has magnified it in his head. He was always this way."

When had the man moved even closer? Archer watched him, hoping that he didn't show any fear. Kimblee reminded him of a large, dangerous animal, one that would pounce if it found him too weak to survive. "So, in other words, an easy target."

"Oh, yes," Kimblee said, "and once you have him, Fullmetal will follow. Their similarities are less apparent than their differences of opinion, but Edward Elric has a loyal streak, and Mustang will do anything to protect those under his command."

Archer pushed back in his chair to get to his feet, tired of Kimblee looming over him. He slapped Fullmetal's file against his palm as he strolled around the office. "The problem with Fullmetal is he has many civilian fans. I am not sure how they would react if he was taken prisoner. I don't want to start a riot."

"Then we have to show the civilians just how dangerous alchemists can be," Kimblee said.

Looking at Kimblee, Archer thought maybe that wouldn't be so difficult an idea.

X X X


	4. Gossip

**Chapter Three: Gossip**  
_And though they walked along pretending not to care  
I knew behind my back they'd point and laugh and stare_  
**Bread, Dismal Day**

Winry slipped into the back door of the house, having come back from the cemetery in the most round-about way possible. There were still too many people in the front yard, celebrating her grandmother's life. She didn't want to see them, not with everything Mr. Hohenheim had told her. Even so, as she crept into the kitchen, she froze, hearing voices.

"…happened, it's the fault of alchemists. That one, the Hero of Ishbal, he started it all! Tried to overthrow Fuhrer Bradley!"

Winry recognized Mrs. Culbertson's voice. She and her husband ran the general store in town. Ducking down, she peered around the corner of the cabinet, spotting two women standing in the hallway, glasses in hand.

Miss Weyerbacher, who worked with the Culbertsons, usually handling the mail, asked, "Do you think Ed and Al had anything to do with it?"

"Those boys?" There was a pause, as Mrs. Culbertson rallied her thoughts. "I don't know. They've been gone so long. Who knows what they've seen? What changes they've gone through? They were always good boys, well, little troublemakers, but what young boys aren't at that age?" She tucked a strand of greying hair back into the bun at the back of her head. "They're still friends with Winry," she said, as if that made any bit of difference.

"But they didn't come to the funeral," Miss Weyerbacher pointed out.

"No," Mrs. Culbertson said, turning away from the kitchen and heading toward the front of the house, "and it's a sad thing. Pinako raised those boys like they were her own, after their mother passed."

Whatever Miss Weyerbacher said in reply was swallowed up in the screeching sounds of the screen door opening and slamming closed.

Winry let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. A spurt of rage shuddered through her, and she nearly followed the women outside to give them a piece of her mind. But Mr. Hohenheim's urgency, and the sense of something being _wrong_ that had been haunting her since the day of the eclipse kept her inside. She slipped through the house, avoiding the squeaking boards, setting her foot on the riser of the staircase.

"Winry!" She whirled around, spotting Paninya. "I was starting to get worried. Where did you come fro – oof!" Paninya tried to peel Winry's hand from her mouth.

"Hush!" Winry hissed in her ear. "I…come upstairs, but be quiet!" She hurried up to her room, Paninya following behind her. At any other time, Winry might've considered how lightly her friend moved, her automail legs not pounding on the risers like Edward's would've. Ducking into her bedroom, Winry waited for Paninya to follow her inside before pushing the door to. "Be quiet," she reminded, holding up a finger, and pointing at the bed.

Paninya obediently folded herself onto the bed, lacing her fingers together and waiting expectantly.

Grabbing a small suitcase out of the closet, Winry set it on the mattress next to Paninya. She turned to her dresser, pulling out some underwear, throwing it into the case. Next went some shirts and pants, as well as a dress. "I just had word from someone that something's going on with the alchemists. They're being blamed for everything that's happened on the Promised Day. Ed and Al are alive, they're in Central City, and I've got to go to them."

"Now?" Paninya yipped, and hunched her shoulders at Winry's glare.

"Right now. I was told not to wait." She snapped the case closed, thinking. "Ed's arm was destroyed…I should take another one with me. And my toolkit."

"Winry, are you listening to yourself? Who told you all this? Why should you believe them?"

Grabbing her traveling toolkit, Winry considered Paninya's questions. "Because Mr. Hohenheim may be a lot of things, but he's not a liar. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

"Help you? I'm going with you." Paninya grinned. "Just let me get my bag, and I'll meet you downstairs."

"No, you can't." Shaking her head hard enough that her hair flew around her face, Winry didn't even want to think about that idea. "You'll have to tell Mr. Garfiel why I'm going." She didn't really care what anyone else thought about it.

"You'll never get away." Paninya patted her shoulder, more confident at planning an escape than offering comfort. "How good are you at climbing?"

"I'm not going out the window with a toolkit and a suitcase! Everyone in four counties will hear that!"

"All right, all right." Paninya held up her hands in apology.

"Besides, the arm's downstairs." Pinching her chin, Winry considered her options. "There are too many people around for me to just get out of here and not get stopped."

A huge smile brightened Paninya's face. "I can cause a distraction."

Winry cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. "You were a thief. You had to be subtle before."

"Not now." Paninya patted her knee. "How far away do you think that stand of trees is, out back? I think I can hit it with my mortar. It's dry enough out there, I could start a fire, and with that storm brewing, it won't get too far."

"It's not right! What if you miscalculate? What if some of the embers get caught up in the wind and set someone else's place on fire?" Winry shook her head. "You can't do that."

"You're the one who can't tell everyone you're leaving." Paninya fixed her with a look.

"I know." She sighed, looking at the wallet, the vial and the box, all wrapped up in Mr. Hohenheim's handkerchief, then shoved them deep into the pocket of her jacket. "I guess I'll just sneak out back again. Maybe you can tell Mr. Garfiel to mail me that arm."

"Nuh, uh, I'm going with you." Stubbornly, Paninya folded her arms and tilted her chin up. "Someone's got to make sure you're safe."

"I'll be safe." But Winry couldn't be sure of it, not really. What if someone still wanted to make her a hostage to keep Edward under their thumb? "I will!" she added, when Paninya scowled at her. "It's going to be." She stopped, abruptly. She didn't know it was going to be fine, no matter what Mr. Hohenheim said. But she needed to get to Edward and Alphonse. There was no waiting for them to come home to her, not this time.

"Then I'll just come along to make sure everything is fine." Paninya grinned. "I'll figure out something. You just be ready to leave."

Winry hummed her annoyance, thinking there really wasn't any other way around it. "Don't blow up anything."

"No promises. But if I do, I won't destroy it completely." Paninya winked and ran out of the room, leaving Winry staring at the open door blankly for a few seconds.

She shook herself hard. She couldn't wait any longer. Slinging the toolkit over her shoulder, she grabbed her bag, heading downstairs quietly.

No one seemed to be in the house, from all the noise filtering in from outside. Winry sneaked through the downstairs, a ghost in her own home, wincing at every small creak and moan. She wondered if she'd ever come back here now, or if her house would wind up like some of the others in the area, abandoned to wind and weather. Trying not to think about it, Winry hesitated, spotting something she couldn't – wouldn't – leave behind.

The pictures on the wall were the history of her life, her parents', and her grandmother's. Pictures of the Elric boys as kids; a photo of Mr. Hohenheim and her grandmother, when Granny was so young. Her own mom and dad on their wedding day. Winry quickly released them from the pins holding them in place, sliding them into a small pocket inside her suitcase. The photo albums were too bulky to carry, she knew; though she mourned their loss. Maybe Mr. Garfiel would gather them up for her, and keep them safe until she could collect them again. But now, there wasn't any time to be thinking of them, nor of Den, buried in the ground behind the house, nor the chickens that needed tending.

A boom outside, like fireworks, or a bomb going off, made the windows rattle. Winry knew it had to be Paninya, and hoped her friend had made good on her word. She risked a glance out the window, seeing childhood friends and their parents, running toward something she couldn't spy in the back of the house. Winry swallowed hard, and ran to grab a final item – a new arm for Edward, shoved haphazardly into a carrying case – before she rushed out the front.

Mr. Garfiel held out his hands to her as she came down the steps. "Oh, girl, Paninya told me. Run. Run to those boys, and you take care."

"Photo albums," Winry gasped. "Chickens."

"I'll take care of everything, dear. You go." He gave her a quick hug, nearly smothering her with the scent of his perfume, before thrusting her back. "And let Paninya take one of those bags!"

Someone – Paninya - grabbed the automail case from Winry's hand. "Come on," she said, "what I did won't keep them busy long." And she took hold of Winry's wrist and began hauling her along, their feet pounding on the packed earth driveway as they ran toward the road, the train station, and Edward and Alphonse.

X X X

The sweet smell of soap tickled Alphonse's nostrils, making him smile. Or maybe that was the warm water, sluicing through his hair. He sighed, softly, contentedly, at the sensations taking place on the top of his head.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you, Alphonse?" Nurse Harrigan's smile warmed her voice as her fingers trailed through his hair.

"Mmm." He felt a faint twitch, down between his legs, and marveled at it. Involuntary movement meant he was healing, right? Realizing Nurse Harrigan was asking a question, he forced his attention back to her words, rather than her hands, running over his scalp.

"And you want your hair cut afterward? But it's such a lovely color." She gently massaged the soap through the strands, working it down to his scalp with the pads of her fingers.

"Too long. It's getting in my eyes." He opened them to peer at Nurse Harrigan, leaning over him, upside-down from being behind him. "You understand, right?"

She had short hair, after all; reddish-brown, with just a slight fringe of bangs, and the rest of her hair was clipped short, only about a half a finger's length all over her head, tapering to even shorter at the nape of her neck and above her cheeks. It didn't disguise how sweet her smile was. "If you want short hair, Al, I'll be happy to help you out."

"Thanks." Alphonse beamed up at her, wondering why she caught her breath. "Is something wrong?" He noticed the quick furrow of her brow and that she tried to hide it with another smile.

"No, Al, everything's fine. Now close your eyes, so I can rinse the soap out of your hair." Picking up a pitcher, Nurse Harrigan poured the warm water over his forehead and scalp, gently squeezing the liquid and soap out as she worked. After she'd rinsed the soap from his hair, she wrapped the wet strands in a towel, and squeezed it a few times, "To get most of the water out," she told him.

A little while later, Nurse Harrigan had him sitting up in a chair, rather than on the bed, with a hospital gown wrapped around his shoulders. "That's to keep the hair from getting down under your clothes," she said, picking up a comb and a pair of scissors. "You want it all gone, right?"

"Mm! A cut like yours."

"I won't be able to do that without clippers, but I'll do what I can to make it short and neat." She hesitated, giving him a wry grin. "Besides, you might not look too good with a woman's hair cut."

Alphonse grinned back. "I'd take my chances."

Nurse Harrigan laughed, beginning to comb through the end strands of his hair. "You and you brother, you both have such amazing coloring."

"Dad's the same way." Alphonse suddenly realized he hadn't seen their father since the ambulance had taken him away from Central Headquarters. Where had he gone? Was he still in Central City, or somewhere else? Would he ever see his Dad again?

"Really? I'd bet he's very handsome."

Alphonse wasn't sure about that. Dad had a long face, and it was mostly hidden by that beard and moustache. Ling kind of had an attractive face, or maybe Colonel Mustang. "I guess," he shrugged slightly.

Nurse Harrigan combed his bangs, holding them straight out away from his face, and began trimming them. "I'm sure he is. It's hard for kids to see how attractive their parents are."

"Mom was beautiful," Alphonse said.

Grinning, Nurse Harrigan combed another strand of hair out from his face and neatly scissored through it. "You and your brother are handsome young men. I'm sure your parents are very attractive."

Alphonse huffed. "I'm nothing but skin and bones! I'm not attractive."

"You will be," Nurse Harrigan assured him, but he caught a hint of that weird melancholy again. "You'll see. Girls will be flocking all around you, wanting to be your girlfriend."

Sighing, Alphonse allowed himself the quick fantasy of a girl, kissing his cheek, holding his hand between her warm fingers. "That'd be nice," he said dreamily, and fell silent as Nurse Harrigan continued to work on shortening his hair.

It was another fifteen minutes before she stepped away, ruffling his still-damp hair with her fingers. "There," she said, "that's as good as I can do with the tools I have available." Nurse Harrigan snipped the scissors together in emphasis. "But that should hold you until you can get a real barber in here." Setting the scissors down, she picked up a mirror, holding it out in front of Alphonse. "I hope it's okay."

Alphonse couldn't hold the mirror – who knew glass was so heavy? – so Nurse Harrigan helped him with it. He turned his head from side to side, admiring her handiwork. It wasn't as neatly-trimmed as he'd like, but at least he had bangs now, not stringy locks hanging everywhere. "This is great, Nurse Harrigan! Thank you so much." He beamed his delight at her.

"You're welcome, Al." She smiled back, and carefully took the gown off of his shoulders, trying to keep as much of the hair from falling onto the floor as she could. "I'll get a broom and sweep this up."

The door opened, and Edward stepped through. "Don't bother." He waved at her, giving the floor a glance. "I'll take care of it." The corner of his mouth quirked down. "I see you went through with it, Al."

"There only needs to be one long-haired Elric brother, Ed, and that's you."

Edward snorted but turned to Nurse Harrigan. "Seriously, I'll clean it up."

She looked him up and down. "With only one arm?"

His teeth showed, not nearly a grin. "Yeah, I can do it, believe me."

"He can," Alphonse said.

"You ought to be back in bed," Edward told him.

"I like sitting up." Alphonse locked his skeletal fingers around the arm rests of his chair.

Edward rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself, Al."

Nurse Harrigan ruffled Alphonse's hair again, and he leaned into her caress. "You probably should get back into bed, Al."

Humming in pleasure at her touch, Alphonse was almost too relaxed to protest. "But I've been in my bed for ten days now. I want out of it for a little while, before I get bed sores." He batted his eyes at her, wondering again at the sorrow in hers.

"Well, just for a little while." Pointing at Edward, Nurse Harrigan said, "When he gets tired, you can call someone and we'll put him back to bed."

Edward waved her off, not really paying any attention to her. "Yeah, yeah," he agreed. "Tired, go to bed. Got it." He raised his eyebrows. "Are we done?"

"Ed," Alphonse grumbled as Nurse Harrigan sniffed.

"I suppose we are. I'll make sure the janitor finds you a broom and dustpan, Major Elric," she said with an awful hauteur. Gathering up the mirror and scissors, she swept out of the room, the door swinging behind her.

"You were so rude!" Alphonse scolded.

"Uh huh."

Edward followed Nurse Harrigan to the door, peering out of it.

"Ed?" When he didn't even turn around, Alphonse cleared his throat. "Brother!"

"What?" Somewhat distracted, Edward pulled his head back through the door.

"Why does Nurse Harrigan look at me like she thinks I'm going to disappear any minute now?"

Letting out a long, slow breath of air, Edward came back into the room, wrapping his hand around the bed rail. "Because they think you're terminal."

"What?" Alphonse gaped up at him. "Why?"

"I don't know. That's why they keep wanting to run more tests." Edward grumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck. "They seem to think you've got a cancer, or something, and that's why you're so thin." He mumbled, almost to himself, "Couldn't tell them what really happened." Abruptly, he shook himself all over, like Den when she got wet. One of his scary smiles split his face as he disappeared through the door, coming back through it a few seconds later with a wheelchair. "How do you feel about getting out of this room?"

Eyes feeling like they nearly swallowed his face from being so wide, all Alphonse could do was nod wordlessly. He let Edward help him from the chair and into the wheelchair, saying nothing as Edward draped him with a blanket that hid his body completely. Alphonse waited with bated breath as his brother peeked out into the hall again before grabbing the handles and pushing him through the door. "Where are we going?"

"To pay a visit," Edward told him mysteriously, using his belly as much as his hand to keep the wheelchair moving in a straight line. "I had to wait until they took you off that I.V. to move you around." Alphonse could hear the distaste in Edward's words.

"We're paying a visit, or someone's paying a visit to us?" Alphonse craned his neck so he could look back.

"You'll see." Edward grinned hugely, and Alphonse decided to let his brother push him wherever they were going, and find out when they got there. When Edward guided the chair into an elevator, and hit the button to take them to the fourth floor, Alphonse twisted his hands together. If they were going up in the elevator, it meant they were seeing someone in the hospital.

He wasn't all that surprised when Edward rolled him up to a door guarded by Second Lieutenant Breda and Sergeant Brosch. "Back for a visit, huh, Boss?" Breda said, pushing the door open for them.

"I thought Al might want to see the bastard. I'm just providing the transportation."

The door opened to a private room, with only one bed, though there were a few chairs scattered around the room, and more flowers here than Alphonse had seen since, well, ever. Colonel Mustang sat on the bed, his back perfectly straight. "I'm surprised you can push a chair in a straight line, Fullmetal," he said in his droll voice.

"Colonel!" Alphonse beamed, delighted to see him.

"Ah, Alphonse. I'm glad your brother brought you up to talk with me." He turned a sightless gaze toward Alphonse, his face a quarter of the way past meeting his eyes.

"You insisted," Edward growled.

"That's very kind of you, sir," Alphonse said, wishing he could get up and go to the older man. "How are you feeling?"

"Aside from not being able to see anything, I am fine, and ready to leave the hospital." His bandaged hands told another story, though. "How are you doing?"

"I got my hair cut today."

Mustang's mouth curled up slightly. "That's the floral smell. I knew it couldn't be your brother."

Edward tsked. "Hey, I'm clean."

"Brother, stop," Alphonse chided him. "I got Nurse Harrigan to cut my hair. I think she did a good job. She said she really needed clippers to finish it off, though."

"I'm sure your hair is fine, Alphonse."

"Next you're gonna be talking about hair pomades and the best shampoos." Edward rolled his eyes as he dragged a chair over to the wheelchair. Turning a serious face to Alphonse, he said, "The bastard wants to talk to you about using the Philosopher's Stone."

"Oh." Alphonse dry-washed his hands absently. "I don't know, sir."

Mustang folded his arms. "I understand your reasoning behind not wanting to be healed that way, Alphonse, but I am sure you know that the current opinion on alchemists is not to our benefit."

"I've read the papers, sir." Hearing Edward grunt in annoyance, Alphonse tried to keep himself from reacting. Edward always thought he couldn't handle things. "Do you really think it's going to be that bad?"

"Edward, can you please get those blue papers from the table there?"

Edward snarled wordlessly, but got out of his chair with a great deal of noise. "What are these?" he asked, then, went completely still. Alphonse twisted in his wheelchair to try to figure out what'd silenced his brother. His face was fixed in a rictus of rage. "The hell?"

"I'm sure you can read them." Mustang hesitated, and added, "Hawkeye was forced to read them to me, though. In case you are too dumbfounded to actually look them over, they are the papers ordering me to appear in court regarding the atrocities in Ishbal, and my leading the coup on Central City H.Q." Mustang said it like it was nothing, though Alphonse noticed the faint tremor in the colonel's hands. "I have no doubt the death penalty will be given."

"But that's not fair!"

Mustang's mouth tightened, almost imperceptibly. "No, Alphonse, it isn't, but it is the way of the world."

Alphonse clenched his hands into fists. "You can't let them just kill you! You're stronger than that – there has to be a better way!"

"The people want someone to blame. Alchemists have always been scapegoats of the military, hated by those they serve with; hated by citizens for their power. I would rather take the bullet myself than allow others to be killed."

"But they've already tried and convicted Dr. Marcoh," Alphonse argued. "That ought to be enough."

"They didn't get an actual death," Mustang said. "No blood was shed, therefore, no sin was assuaged."

"It's still not right," Edward broke in.

"Right is a matter of opinion, and now, our opinions don't matter. What does matter is that you boys remain safe."

Alphonse lifted his chin to meet those sightless grey eyes. "We're not children, Colonel. This was our war, too."

Mustang barked out a sharp laugh. "Alphonse, there are things you know, and things you do not know. You two may've seen battle, but neither of you have seen a real war, and I hope you never will." His eyes narrowed and drifted to the left. "You don't know what it's like, being ordered to kill, and not being able to choose to not murder people. It destroyed Alex Louis Armstrong's career, as he could not understand why we were ordered to kill women and children, and he argued against it until he was sent back to Amestris in disgrace." His expression cleared. "It is possible the death penalty will not be handed down to him."

"You were just following orders!" Edward snapped. "Like soldiers are supposed to do – if they want to blame someone, blame your superior officers during the war!"

"Many of them are already in custody, Edward, from their attempts to turn this country into a Philosopher's Stone. They will be tried in their own way, though probably not as publicly as my trial will be." Mustang shifted his weight, making the mattress and the waterproof fabric under the sheet squeak. "I understand what they're doing. Someone needs to be the scapegoat."

"It doesn't have to be you!"

"Alphonse, it does. I may not be…agreeable to it, but I am resigned to it." Mustang ran a hand over his hair, the frustration he had to feel evident in that gesture.

"Maybe you are," Edward said, "it doesn't mean the fuck we are." He jammed his thumb into his chest, then pointed at Mustang. "Since when are you into giving up, anyway?"

"Since I was promised a deal if I agreed to be made the scapegoat. My men will go free, without any blemishes on their records."

"Sir, what makes you think they won't try to follow you, anyway?" Alphonse asked. "First Lieutenant Hawkeye was ready to let Lust kill her when she thought you were dead."

"You don't deserve her loyalty," Edward sneered.

"And have you bothered contacting your mechanic yet, Edward?" Mustang countered darkly.

"That's different!" Edward slashed his hand through the air. "She wouldn't kill herself because I died! She'd – she'd keep walking forward, like she told me to do." Agony choked his words for a few seconds, but he shook it off. "First Lieutenant Hawkeye cares about you, why, I have no idea, since you're such a bastard. But if you just roll over and let them kill you, do you think she'll try to live, or just follow you into the grave?"

Mustang's face went troubled for a few seconds, then smoothed out. "Arrangements have been made for those under my command. For everyone except for you, Edward, unless Alphonse," his face tilted toward Alphonse, "agrees to being healed by the Philosopher's Stone."

"What happens if I don't, sir?"

"I'm afraid you boys would be on your own. With both of you being alchemists, and Edward being under my command, there is a possibility those in charge would come after you."

"So, we go into hiding," Edward spat out, "for how long? When would we be able to take back our lives?"

"It is a possibility you might never regain your lives, Edward." How he said it without a hint of apology, without squirming, Alphonse couldn't imagine. How strong-willed was the colonel, anyway? "It has been a possibility since you signed up for the military. Everyone who joins the corps knows this."

"Not fucking like this – not living a lie!"

"At least you will live, Edward, and that's the important thing, isn't it? You, and your brother, back in his body. It is far more important than a name, and what may or may not happen to me."

"Damn it, it is important, you bastard!" Edward lunged out of his chair, grabbing the front of Mustang's hospital shirt and giving him a shake. "You can't just bare your throat for them, you have to fight! Or what else is living good for? You can't be so willing to give up, can you? If not for yourself, think about Hughes! He would've slugged you for this!" Letting go of Mustang, he shoved him back for good measure. Mustang rocked slightly, but remained upright, his face expressionless. "I can't believe you," Edward growled.

"Concern yourself with Alphonse and your own lives, Edward, and let me be the judge of whether I'm giving up or not." His eyebrow twitched. "Now, I am exhausted with having to listen to you. Please leave me."

"Gladly," Edward growled. He grabbed hold of Alphonse's chair, spinning it around so fast, Alphonse though his head would snap off his neck. "Let's go, Al."

"Sir," Alphonse said, grabbing for the tires, stopping the chair. He looked over his shoulder. "Thank you for everything, but I'm not sure I can accept the offer, after everything we've been through."

"As you wish, Alphonse," Mustang said tiredly.

Alphonse released the tires. Edward shoved him out of Colonel Mustang's room, grumbling all the way.

X X X


	5. Circles in the Sky

**Chapter Four: Circles in the Sky**  
_In a window small and high  
A boy watches the sky_  
**The Bangles, "Circles in the Sky"**

* * *

"Next stop, Central City," the porter called, walking through the aisle between the seats on the train car.

Paninya sighed, stretching her arms out in front of her. "Hear that, Winry?"

Her friend grumbled, shoving her hair out of her eyes as she sat up. "Good thing. I think my butt's broken."

"Yours? Who traveled from Rush Valley to Risembool, then to Central City?"

Winry gazed at her through half-lidded eyes. "It was your decision to come with me. You're not going to make me feel bad about it."

Paninya shrugged. "It was worth a try."

The train slowed on the tracks, the bell ringing on the engine to announce their arrival loud enough to hear, even though they were five cars back from it. Paninya craned her neck as they entered Amestris's capital city, shocked at the sight of the slums the train tracks wended through on the way to the station. Winry kept her eyes focused on the seat back across from her, rubbing a spot on the hem of her dress in a fixed manner. The whiff of an open sewer exploded through the open window, and Paninya made a face, thinking she'd never expected to smell something so horrible in Central City.

Before she could really comment about it, though, the train slowed even more. The metal wheels squealed, rubbing against the tracks as the brakes caught and held. The bell rang repeatedly, and a station platform came into sight, then, just like that, bracketing both sides of the train car. Porters ran up to the cars, setting down wooden steps to help the passengers disembark. Cinders blew past, and steam suddenly clouded the air, then, just as abruptly, vanished as a steam whistle blew – announcing their actual arrival in Central City station.

Passengers began gathering their carpet bags and other luggage, grabbing children by their hands, helping each other out of the bench seats and into the aisle. Paninya leaned down to grab the heavy case containing the automail arm, picking up her own small suitcase as well. Winry reached for her toolkit and her own case, taking a deep breath as she stood up. "Ready?"

"Uh huh. Don't let me get lost." Paninya grinned sunnily at Winry's exasperated sigh.

"You'll just have to keep up then, won't you?" She stepped out into the aisle and led the way to the doorway and the train platform.

Paninya stopped on the steps, her eyes going wide at the sight in front of her. "Wow," she gasped, not sure where to look first. There were five tracks, with three trains sitting on them, and a round-about house just outside. There were people, so many people, and she couldn't see anyone with visible automail, like back home. Their platform was at least three times wider than the general streets in Rush Valley. Engineers worked on the trains, oiling wheels, while stokers raked out spent ashes and loaded up fresh coals into the engine. Porters led passengers through the station like guides in some sort of ancient maze. Dazzled, Paninya hopped off the steps and onto the platform. She turned in a slow circle, feeling a huge smile stretching her face. If she was still a thief, she knew she could pick up so much money, just in this station alone.

"Come on, Paninya," Winry said, without impatience, or at least much.

Nodding, she snapped her mouth closed. "I can look at all this some other time." Paninya nudged Winry with her elbow. "Right now, we need to get you to your boyfriend!" She made a kissing sound, and Winry's fair skin flushed pink.

"I hate you," Winry growled, pulling her toolkit more tightly up on her shoulder.

Paninya giggled, skipping a couple of steps, her smile still in place as they made their way through the station. There were twelve steps taking them down to street level, and Winry waited while some men and women dressed in very expensive clothes haled taxi cabs. "We're going in one of those?" Paninya asked, goggling.

"Mm. But we won't get anyone's attention until they," she nodded at the expensively dressed couples, "are out of the way."

"We're seriously going in a taxi cab?"

The corner of her mouth tilted up. "Yes, Paninya." With the wealthy people out of the way, Winry took a step closer to the curb, sticking two fingers in her mouth and whistling sharply.

A driver waved at her from inside the cab, and pulled up in front of them. He hopped out and opened the back door for them. "Would you like me to take your bags and put them in the boot?"

"No, thanks, we'll keep them," Winry said, climbing into the back seat, tossing her kit and her suitcase onto the floor.

Paninya slid in next to her, bouncing on the seat, reaching for the crank to roll down the window. "This is amazing," she announced as the driver settled in behind the steering wheel and twisted the key in the ignition.

"It's just a cab," he said, grinning in the rearview mirror.

"But I've never been in one!" Paninya twisted in the seat to look out the back window at the train station as they left it behind.

"We need to go to the military hospital, sir," Winry said.

"Right, then." He tugged his cap lower on his head and drove.

Winry looked out the window as their driver – "Mike, that's my name" – took them on what seemed like a long ride. "So, what do you think about what happened here in Central? I hear everyone across the country went unconscious, and no one's really giving an explanation about it." Mike smiled at them from the rear view mirror.

"It was pretty scary," Paninya admitted. "Almost everyone I know woke up." Her face fell, thinking of Dominic and Winry's grandmother. We all had headaches, though." She glanced sidelong at Winry, but her friend didn't seem to notice. Her gaze was fixed ahead.

"Yeah, I had a headache, too. Worse than a hangover," Mike laughed, but his expression went grim as he glanced at them in the rear view mirror. "So, I heard through the grape vine that alchemists had something to do with it, not to mention the attack on military H.Q."

Winry roused herself at that. "I don't think anyone has the whole story," she said. "People shouldn't make any decisions until they know everything!"

"Yeah, but who's going to tell us? Who do we believe?" Mike asked, turning his blue eyes to her.

"Who do you trust more?"

Paninya nodded slightly. Trust was important, and generally had to be earned. "I know who I trust."

Mike eyed them both in the mirror, and his smile suddenly came back. "You two young ladies gave me something to think about."

Both he and Winry fell silent after that, leaving Paninya to her own devices. Twisting around in her seat, she tried to take in everything. There was so much to look at, from houses with gorgeous flowers to businesses, set up with huge glass windows to let everyone see what happened inside. She half-hung out the window at the sweet smell of bread baking, inhaling deeply, and slithering back inside to grab Winry's arm. "This is amazing!"

A tight smile was her answer. Paninya pouted, releasing Winry to turn back to the window. Outside the car, the scenery changed; houses and cute little businesses giving way to more imposing buildings. She spotted a bank, with columns carved out of marble out front and a tiny park next door to it. Heavy yew hedges flanked other buildings, and then the buildings grew taller. Finally, opposite a park with a gate adorned with Amestrian leocampuses, a sign on a tall white building read, 'Central City Military Hospital'. Mike pulled the car into the parking lot, guiding it into an arched drive that stopped under an awning.

Winry didn't wait for Mike to open the door, popping it and hopping out. She reached back in to grab her suitcase and toolkit as Paninya opened the other door, pulling the automail case and her own bag out behind her. Winry paid Mike and turned toward the large double doors. Paninya waved at Mike as he drove off, then joined Winry. "You can do this."

"Yeah." Winry squared her shoulders and started walking, shoving her way through the revolving door.

Paninya trailed behind her, craning her head to try to take everything in. It looked like any other hospital she'd ever been in, just a lot bigger. And with a lot more soldiers than she'd ever seen before. Winry marched up to the reception desk, setting down her suitcase. "I'm Edward Elric's mechanic. I need to see him, now."

The nurse behind the desk raised her head, looking at Winry over the rims of her glasses. "I'm sorry, there's no one here by that name."

Her eyebrows arched up and Winry tapped a finger on the desktop. "He called me from here, and asked me to come. I took a train all the way from Risembool to install his arm. Now, if you want to tell Major Elric that his mechanic was sent away, and he'll still be charged for my trip and my time, then that's up to you. But if you know anything about alchemists, you'll know that they want things done their way, and they want things to happen immediately, otherwise, they'd be regular people, just like you and me."

The nurse blinked once. Paninya noticed one of the soldiers batting the other with the back of his hand, and the pair of them starting for the nurse's desk.

"I need to see him," Winry said. Paninya wished she could see her friend's face, but didn't dare take her eyes off the soldiers. "Right. Now."

The nurse reached for the telephone receiver, looking down at a list. She adjusted her glasses before dialing a set of four numbers, glancing up at Winry as she spoke to someone on the other end of the line. "Major Elric's mechanic is here." Her mouth tightened. "No, I wasn't aware of this, either." Winry folded her arms, waiting. Paninya swung the automail case around lightly, getting the heft of it in case she needed to throw it at the soldiers, still approaching, slow and steady. The nurse's face soured more. "All right." Without saying a farewell, she dropped the receiver into the cradle. "Someone will be coming for you," she said.

"Thank you." Winry nodded at her. She picked up her kit and luggage and stepped aside to let the next person have access to the nurse.

The soldiers glanced at each other, and retreated back to their place near the wall. Paninya grinned, and whispered in Winry's ear, "I didn't know you could be scary."

Winry smiled. "I don't know why. You've seen how Ed and Al act around me."

The elevator chimed before Paninya could say anything more, and a dark-haired woman stepped out, dressed in Amestrian blue. "Miss Rockbell?"

"Yes?" Winry turned, lighting up in recognition. "Miss Ross! It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, as well." She smiled warmly, and Paninya revised her opinion of women in uniforms; maybe they did look kind of approachable. "If you and your assistant will come with me, I'll take you to Major Elric." She gestured for them to join her in the elevator car.

Paninya wondered just how many more firsts she'd have today – a ride in a taxi cab and a ride in an elevator, which kind of jolted, and made her stomach lurch, and made her think she'd rather just climb stairs, or maybe run up the side of the building. The car lurched again when it stopped, and the doors opened, and Paninya swallowed hard before stepping out of it after Winry and Second Lieutenant Ross. The two of them were chatting like old friends, the way Winry always was with people. She seemed to make friends everywhere.

Following behind, Paninya noticed another pair of soldiers, one standing at either end of the hallway. A cold tingling settled between her shoulders. What was going on in this building, anyway? Guards on every floor, taking note of who came and went? How was anyone supposed to heal with someone watching every move anyone made? She realized Winry'd gotten farther ahead and hurried to catch up.

"Shut the fuck up, bastard!" she heard Edward shout, and Winry glanced over her shoulder, rolling her eyes at Paninya.

Second Lieutenant Ross shook her head. "He's so loud."

"Probably going to get louder," Paninya said, cheerfully, and Ross shot her a look.

Winry stopped outside the door where the yelling could be heard, taking a deep breath, then pushed her way into the room.

Silence broke out as Paninya followed her into the sick room.

X X X

Kimblee stood across the street from the hospital, near the entrance of a small park. It hadn't been difficult to get the room numbers for Mustang and Elric's little brother – it seemed Fullmetal himself had been discharged, but had yet to actually leave the hospital.

The reports on his brother indicated Alphonse Elric was not long for this world. Kimblee wondered at that. By all accounts, Alphonse was emaciated, literally skin and bones, and believed to be terminal. How he'd gotten his body back was something to puzzle over. It would be a shame if he didn't have a chance to question Alphonse, but Kimblee was under other orders. For now, he planned on following them.

Turning his attention back to the hospital, Kimblee put the question of Alphonse Elric's body out of his mind. Two soldiers patrolled near the entryway, and, from what Archer had let him know, more were stationed on the floors where the Elric brothers and Mustang were recuperating. It was too bad regular soldiers were no match for alchemists. Chimerӕ, at least, stood a chance, but Kimblee's blunt questioning regarding the creatures he'd had in his employ in Briggs had almost made Major General Archer apoplectic.

He shook his head at the memory. What did those southern soldiers get up to, anyway? From Archer's reactions, he didn't have a clue about the homunculi in general, and Bradley in particular. The south must live in its own little insular world, Kimblee decided, and was only needed to provide more souls for the Philosopher's Stone. He couldn't even think of any higher ranked officer in Bradley's inner circle who might've been southern.

No matter. Archer seemed amiable enough, at least for now. That's all Kimblee needed. He could set up things for the Major General, show Flame and Fullmetal in their true lights, and set the citizens against them. The rumors about alchemists having initiated the occurrences during the eclipse were starting to gain hold – not to mention, acceptance. What else could have cause a simultaneous blackout of every citizen within the country's borders? Kimblee smiled to himself. Mix a little truth with a lie, and it would always be more palatable. Who would actually believe the whole truth, that Bradley had been bred and created, raised up like a lab animal to become Fuhrer of Amestris? That the country was established just so another homunculus could create a Philosopher's Stone to drag God down to its level?

Considering what the Father homunculus might have done with a being like God didn't distract Kimblee too much from his survey of the hospital. He noticed the taxi cab as it drove down the block, turning into the parking lot. A young woman climbed out of the back, brushing back long, blond hair. A smile tugged at Kimblee's mouth at the sight of her. "Ah, Miss Rockbell." He'd wondered if she'd survived the Promised Day, and here she was, paying the cab driver, then squaring her shoulders as she faced the hospital, as if it was her personal enemy. Kimblee admired her attire, the black on black making her hair and skin nearly glow. She was almost his direct opposite in coloring today, the sight tickling something deep inside of him.

But why would Miss Rockbell be dressed all in black? He only came up with one answer: someone must have died, to have her and her companion clad in nothing but sable. Perhaps Miss Rockbell's grandfather? Grandmother? Kimblee couldn't remember which had taken her in after the death of her parents. He wondered if Miss Rockbell had ever realized why he'd been assigned to 'check in' at the Rockbell hospital? As it was, the scarred Ishbalan played the role Kimblee's commanding officer had assigned to him. Kimblee shook his head slightly at the thought that Miss Rockbell had figured out his part in her parents' death. While she seemed to be a mechanical genius, Miss Rockbell seemed incredibly naïve.

That naivety left her vulnerable, of course, but it also brought out the protective streak in many people. The reaction of the Briggs soldiers when Miss Rockbell was kidnapped by the scar-faced Ishbalan showed the depths to which she could charm even virtual strangers. Kimblee understood their feelings, in a way – Miss Rockbell possessed certain attributes that always engendered particular reactions in the people around her.

Miss Rockbell pushed through the revolving doors of the entryway, leaving Kimblee with the afterimage of her lovely figure printed on his memory. Kimblee wondered if Fullmetal, or some other young man – or even possibly the young woman accompanying Miss Rockbell – had tasted those assets yet. Somehow, Kimblee didn't think the opportunity would ever come up where he would be able to find out for sure, but it entertained him, considering what her face might have looked like in the throes of ecstasy, and who might have given her that first orgasm.

Deciding perhaps a drink would assist his thoughts, and possibly cool them down, Kimblee headed into the park. He knew he'd heard a push cart jangle its way by him earlier, and thought to follow it to partake of its refreshments. And, while sitting on a bench in the shade, he'd consider what his next move should actually be.


	6. Beating Black and Blue

**Chapter Five: Beating Black and Blue**

_…you can't say much about today,_

_Just that dark cloud coming back your way_

_And that your dreams are all worn thin_

**Cyndi Lauper, "Set Your Heart Free"**

* * *

Edward was starting to wish Second Lieutenant Ross hadn't left Alphonse's room. Maybe with her here, this conversation wouldn't have fallen into a shit storm. He'd asked Mustang to come here to talk to Alphonse about the Philosopher's Stone, again. Instead, Mustang was trying to convince them to leave Central. Again.

"There's no way, bastard." Not until this was settled. Not until Alphonse was well enough to walk out of the hospital on his own. Not until he knew the bastard and his men were safe.

Mustang laced his fingers together, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. "I need to know your answer, Fullmetal. I must know if you're going to accept that discharge."

"The hell?" Edward snapped, leaping out of his chair, making it scrape across the linoleum floor.

On his bed, Alphonse winced, hunching his shoulders. "Brother. Not so loud."

He waved an apologetic hand at Alphonse, but didn't turn his attention away from Mustang. "What I do with my life is not what I asked you here to talk about."

Mustang narrowed his sightless eyes, somehow turning them unerringly at him. "This hospital isn't safe for you any longer, Edward. Neither of you. And you know it. Archer is gunning for the State Alchemists. Just because you weren't in Ishbal doesn't mean he won't come after you. You have a following, Edward, and the citizens, for the most part, adore you." His eyebrows twitched. "No accounting for taste, I suppose." Ignoring Edward's snarl, Mustang went on. "That doesn't mean their goodwill will keep you safe."

"I'm not worried about my safety, bastard." Edward paced along the mint-green plastered wall.

"Then worry about Alphonse's." Mustang pointed at him – well, close enough to be scary, at least. Even without Hawkeye's direction, he could still pinpoint Edward. Probably the sound of his mismatched tread. Automail didn't really sneak well. "These are dangerous times we're living in, Edward."

He stopped pacing to sneer. "Don't you mean 'dying in'?"

"Call it what you will." Mustang didn't rise to the bait. "I'd rather you retain your life." He turned in Alphonse's direction. "Both of you. Or would you prefer leaving your brother alone?"

"Shut the fuck up, bastard!" Edward punched the wall to keep from hitting Mustang, grinding his jaw when the pain exploded in his knuckles and down to his wrist. Hospital plaster sucked.

The door opened with a squeal, and Edward turned, expecting to see Hawkeye, with the way she always appeared when Mustang was in danger of getting his face punched off. Instead, he saw a blonde he hadn't been expecting, with Ross right behind her. Jaw dropping, he squeaked out, "Winry?"

"Winry!" Alphonse breathed out, but Edward didn't dare glance at his brother, not with the threat of a pissed-off mechanic entering the room.

"Edward," she rapped out, her eyes narrowing. "Why haven't you called me to tell me you needed a new arm?"

"I – I – I," Edward stuttered.

"I think I should leave now," Mustang said, smirking and getting to his feet. "Second Lieutenant Ross, would you please escort me back to my room?" He reached out his hand to her.

"Gladly, sir," Ross said, and she caught Mustang's hand, putting it into the crook of her arm to lead him out of the room.

Edward hated that they scooted out with huge smiles on their faces, leaving him to his fate. Fuck. "How the hell did you even get here?"

"And with Paninya?" Alphonse wanted to know as she came through the door, smiling at them both and waving.

Winry looked away from Edward then, tell-tale drops running down her cheeks. "Al." She dropped her suitcase and her toolkit with a clatter, leaping across the room to wrap her arms around him. "Oh, Alphonse." He hugged her back with those damned spindly arms, tears leaking out of his closed eyes. "I'm so happy to see you," she sobbed, "to see the real you, Al."

"I'm glad to see you, too, Winry." Alphonse pulled back a little bit to wipe his eyes. Edward had to turn his head and clear his throat. "Don't cry," Alphonse said, touching Winry's cheek. "Please."

She laughed brokenly, catching his hand and squeezing it. "Happy tears are okay, remember?"

Swallowing hard, Edward grumbled, "That still doesn't explain why you're here, Winry. With that little thief." He jerked his chin at Paninya, narrowing his eyes at her.

Paninya paid him no attention. Setting a pair of suitcases on the floor, she hopped into the bed with Alphonse. "Al! My goodness, you're so cute!" She slung her arm over his shoulders, giving him a cuddle as Winry slid off the bed, facing Edward. "We have to fatten you up, but still!"

"The nurses are trying," Alphonse assured her, snuggling closer. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in Risembool, and when I found out Winry was coming to see you, I had to tag along. I've never seen Central!"

"Really? Why were you in Risembool?" Alphonse asked.

"Well," Paninya sighed. "That's really Winry's story to tell."

Edward ignored Paninya and Alphonse, focusing on Winry. "Why are you here?"

She took a deep breath, and Edward wished he hadn't looked so closely at her. Dark circles ringed her reddened eyes. "Ed," she brushed a hand over her face. "Maybe we should…" She tilted her head toward the door.

"Don't worry about us, we can take care of ourselves, right, Al?" Paninya asked.

He leaned into her, asking in a mock-whisper, "Does that mean we're gonna let Winry yell at Ed without us watching?"

"It depends." Paninya shrugged without dislodging Alphonse. "I mean, if they go somewhere else, they can have some privacy so they can fight and make up."

"You know, they never actually make up," Alphonse told her.

Edward asked Winry through gritted teeth, "Would you like to step out into the hall?"

Her mouth tightened and she nodded jerkily, walking out ahead of him. Edward couldn't help but look at her ass, and the way the ends of her hair brushed against it, then he forced his eyes up. What the hell was she wearing, anyway? He couldn't remember this much black in her clothes before. His gaze lingered at her waist and the flare of her hips, and he had to swallow again, for another reason entirely.

As the door closed, Winry spun around to face him, and Edward yanked his gaze up to meet hers. Fine lines bracketed her down-turned, trembling mouth. This wasn't all about Alphonse, nor him, it couldn't be. "Winry," he said, reaching out to her. "What is it? Why did you come here? You knew…we'd be coming back, right?"

Her hands fisted and opened again as she hiccupped, "Granny's dead, Ed! Den, too. They didn't wake up after," she twirled a finger in the air. "We tried to bring Granny back, and nothing worked, Ed. She's gone. I buried them both, and I couldn't…I tried to reach you! I called and called and," Winry put her hands over her face. "I tried," she whispered. "I wanted you guys there, for – for Granny, but I couldn't get through."

The two steps to reach her seemed to take as long to cross as the whole country, but Edward made it. He laid his hand on the crown of her head, sliding it down to pull her against him. "Winry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know." He buried his face against her shoulder. "You shouldn't have been alone for that." Pain swelled in his chest, keeping him from saying anything else. He held her tightly to make up for it.

Winry shivered and her hands came up to clutch at his sides. Her tears soaked into his hospital shirt. Edward rocked her slowly, trying not to think on how horrible it had to have been, alone at Pinako's gravesite. He'd failed her, again. "I'm sorry," he grated out. "We should've…I should've been there." If he'd listened to Mustang, maybe Alphonse and he would've been there for her. He should've called. He should've done so many things differently. "I'm so sorry, Winry!"

She cried against him, not the great, racking sobs when she'd found out Scar was the man who'd killed her parents; no, these were almost silent. His heart splintered inside of him, aching for the loss of the old woman who'd done her best to raise him. How had Winry dealt with it by herself? That little thief had been there, and he hadn't – how backwards was that? Edward rubbed her back and nuzzled her temple. "Winry…"

"I know." She let go of him, pushing back to wipe her eyes. "I'm b-breaking our promise."

Edward fished in his pocket, finding a napkin left over from his lunch. He used the cloth to wipe her eyes. "You didn't, Winry. I did – I could've called you, but." He kept stroking his thumb over her damp cheek. Her skin was so soft. He sighed. "Everything's all fucked up, Winry, I'm sorry. I wanted everything to be perfect – Al healed, and the country safe."

"That's why I'm here, Ed." Winry caught his hand, like she'd taken hold of Alphonse's, but squeezing it tight. "Your Dad."

"What about him?" He couldn't help but bridle at the mention of Hohenheim.

"He's…he's dead, too, Ed. He came to the cemetery after Granny's funeral." Winry sniffled and took the napkin, wiping her nose with it. "He…he's the one who told me to come to Central. To get you and Al, and to leave Central City." She frowned up at him, the cloth still pressed to her nose.

Something cold curled in Edward's stomach. He had to think past it. He couldn't let himself react right now. "What, him, too?" Edward growled, turning away from Winry, throwing his hand in the air. Hiding his eyes from her, so she wouldn't know how he felt. "Mustang's telling me the same thing – to get out of Central. But Al's too weak." He couldn't say anything about the Stone, not to Winry.

Winry wadded the napkin in her hands, glancing back toward the elevator. Toward the two soldiers watching them. She turned back, licking her lips. "Your dad meant it, Ed, he said it wasn't safe. Not for any of us."

Edward rubbed his chin, scowling. Both the bastards thought it was bad. And Hawkeye, too. He'd believe her, but the other two – okay, Mustang was truthful up to a point, but he had his own agendas. This time, whatever he was doing could lead to his own death. Edward'd read the papers, about how it was lucky that so many State Alchemists had died (been killed by Scar, Edward had amended to himself while reading), so it would save the Amestrian people the trial costs. Hohenheim sending Winry here, to Central City, well, it meant he thought something bad was going to happen, too. His bastard father knew the best way to get his attention was through Winry, but Edward hated to think that both Hohenheim and Mustang might be right.

"Ed?"

"Sorry, Winry." Sighing, Edward ran his hand over his hair. "I guess we need to talk to Al."

"Yeah." Winry mustered a smile that turned into an annoyed grimace. "And I need to install your arm."

Edward gnashed his teeth at her. "I lost it saving the country, just like you told me to do!"

Winry punched him in the chest. "You idiot!" she said, and Edward quailed back. Were those more tears in her eyes?

"Why am I an idiot now?" he snapped. Anger, that was better than tears, it had to be, right?

"Because you." She sniffed again.

Damn it, those _were_ tears. "Winry, please." Edward half-raised his hand, not even sure what he was going to do.

"Because you did it, Ed, you got Al's body back, a-and you saved the country." Winry blotted her eyes.

Edward's heart sank right down into his stomach. Fuck, that hurt. "Yeah, but I had help. That stupid prince, and that shit colonel, and even my bastard father. And Al, and the little bean girl. Ran Fan, too." He rubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time looking at Winry. "I didn't do it all alone."

"But you did it." Her reddened eyes shone, and Edward gulped. Winry was so pretty, even with her face all blotchy from crying. Why hadn't he ever realized it? No, maybe he had, he'd just – shoved it aside, because he couldn't think about that sort of thing, not until Alphonse had his body back. _He has it now._ She smiled tremulously. "Thanks, Ed."

He managed to get out a gruff, "You're welcome." Edward realized the soldiers were paying a hell of a lot more attention to them than he wanted. He squinted, not recognizing them. Scowling, he turned back to Winry. Her fingers laced together. Dressed all in black, she wore mourning clothes. How the hell hadn't he noticed, aside from the way the fabric hugged her curves? The silence between them stretched like taffy, and Edward wasn't sure what to do. Should he smile, or hug her again? "Uh."

"I guess we should tell Al."

For a split second, Edward felt relief that Winry said something, then he realized they'd have to actually explain to Alphonse about the old hag, Den, and Hohenheim. "Yeah." He couldn't help himself, though; he ruffled her hair, letting his hand slip down to her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Winry put her arm around his waist, just like she had up in Briggs, and leaned against him. Stupid as it was, it seemed like his heart lightened a little bit. "Yeah," he repeated, mentally preparing himself for how his brother might react to this news. "Let's go talk to Al."

X X X

"Here we are, sir," Ross said, leading Roy off the elevator, "your floor, and your room is just a few doors down." She lightly patted his fingers, tucked into the crook of her elbow.

"Thank you, Second Lieutenant." Roy caught a familiar scent in the air, and hid his smile. "Ah, First Lieutenant Hawkeye."

"Sir." He wondered if she wore her uniform, and took a subtle, deeper inhalation. No hint of wool in the air, so she was in civilian clothing. He wondered if she wore a dress and mentally mourned the loss of his sight – Riza Hawkeye's legs were a glorious thing to behold. "I was wondering if you would like to go on a trip around the park next door."

Roy squeezed Ross's elbow. "Thank you, Second Lieutenant, that will be all."

"Sir," Ross said, and Roy had no doubt she saluted.

He saluted back, listening to the whisk of her uniform as she walked away. Cocking his head, he held out his hand. "Well, Lieutenant? I'm all yours."

She took his hand, guiding it to her elbow. "I'm sure you're enjoying this, a chance to get closer to all the women."

Roy smirked. "Why, Lieutenant, you wound me." He started walking with her, their steps in sync. Military training. He could hear the elevator shifting and whining in its tube and knew Hawkeye was leading him there. "It will be nice to get outside." Behind them, he heard someone trailing, not a doctor, not with those cadenced steps. Breda? Brosch? Or someone else? He'd heard strange voices outside his room this morning, and Brosch had told him there were new soldiers at the end of the hall, 'to keep order'. He wondered if Alphonse's floor also had guards. Edward hadn't mentioned them, nor had Ross. He'd have to ask. Guards would make everything more difficult.

"I thought you could do with a little sun." Hawkeye broke into his thoughts. "You're paler than normal, sir."

"Ouch."

They stopped in front of the elevator, and Roy heard it approach; its whine and ringing bell announcing its arrival. The doors opened with a whoosh; a faint, foul odor preceding their entry. "Ready?" Hawkeye asked.

He nodded, and they walked into the lift car. It shuddered, and Roy heard Hawkeye touch the button to take them to the ground floor. "Isn't my guard coming with us?" The car jolted, then started down. Roy swallowed.

"I thought you would appreciate a walk without an audience," she said, "so Breda and Ross decided to detain them." As he digested this thought, Hawkeye admitted, "I don't like elevators, either."

"I don't like losing control of my descent rate," Roy admitted.

"You don't like losing any control."

Roy tightened his mouth almost imperceptibly, hearing the soft rush of Hawkeye's exhalation – the only amusement she'd allow herself to show at this point. "You're right," he finally said in agreement.

"Don't expect to get it back any time soon," Hawkeye warned him as the elevator stopped with another jerk, the doors sliding open.

This floor was definitely noisier, and held a scent of fresher air. Roy tipped his chin up slightly, listening to the general hubbub and intercom announcements that let him know they'd reached the ground floor. He squeezed Hawkeye's elbow as she stepped off the elevator, leading him along with her. "It's crowded," she said.

"I can hear." He wrinkled his nose at the smell. Some of the people could use a bath. The fresher air kept the odors moving, something of a relief. The sudden thrum of tension in Hawkeye's elbow alerted him. Roy asked softly, barely moving his mouth, "How many soldiers are in the lobby?"

"Three," was Hawkeye's prompt response.

"I see." Roy tightened his jaw, thinking how much easier this would all be, if Grumman hadn't died. With him out of the way, and Frank Archer not being part of Bradley's inner circle, the major general was one of the few higher-ranked officers not in prison or hospitalized at the end of the Promised Day. He'd been made Fuhrer pro tempore of Amestris. Why wouldn't he want to keep control of that power?

"Doors," Hawkeye warned him, and guided him to push his way through the rotating doors. They stepped out into the afternoon sun. Roy turned his face toward the warmth, taking a deep breath. An unfamiliar smile spread across his face. He could taste the humidity in the air. It must've rained a few hours back, a light, spring rain. Cars running along the streets splashed through puddles, and Roy heard someone curse, knowing the man had to have been spattered by a passing vehicle. The grainy smell of horse droppings caught his attention, and he wondered who'd made a delivery in this district.

Hawkeye said, "We have to cross the street. I'll warn you when we reach the curb."

"I would hope so," Roy told her. How long they'd be out here? How long it would be before his guards broke free of Breda and Ross, to come looking for him? "Were you aware that Fullmetal's mechanic is in town?"

"Winry's here?" Hawkeye didn't hesitate, but her voice changed slightly, as if she'd glanced at him when she asked her question.

"Yes. And for some reason, she was very upset with him losing his arm."

"She puts a great deal of care into the automail she creates."

Roy turned his head as if he could read Hawkeye's expression. "You seem to know a great deal about it, Lieutenant. Have you been in contact with Miss Rockbell?"

"I've only met her twice, sir, but she left an impression on me. She's very dedicated to the Elric brothers."

"And they, her." Roy remembered the meeting they'd had with Fuhrer Bradley, before the Promised Day. The implied violence in Edward's reaction to Miss Rockbell's being made a hostage spoke volumes about his feelings toward her. At the time, Roy had thought Edward needed to learn to control his emotions, but that wasn't Edward's way. He _felt_, intensely, and everyone knew what he was feeling. Particularly when he was annoyed with someone.

"Curb, sir."

They stepped down and onto the street, and Hawkeye advised him when they had to step up again. The smell of green, growing things tickled Roy's nose, making him sneeze. "Have our friends rejoined us yet?"

"Coming out of the hospital doors now," Hawkeye said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I daresay they'll be busy, though."

The squeal of tires and a horrible, crashing sound made Roy turn automatically. "What happened?"

"Someone lost control of her car," Hawkeye said. "Don't worry, Rachel won't have been hurt, and she didn't hit anyone. But the soldiers will be distracted."

Rachel was one of the attractive young women employed by Madam Christmas. "By a lovely woman in distress." Another smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Roy let Hawkeye lead him deeper into the park.

They marched quickly along the path, until Hawkeye said, "Sir, precede straight ahead twenty paces. There is a park bench, and someone waiting to meet with you."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." He released her elbow and began walking, wondering just who would have taken such elaborate precautions. When he touched the bench back, he felt the flaking paint, the dampness of the wood from the rain, and, then, a shoulder. "Good afternoon."

"Mustang," Major General Olivier Milla Armstrong said, in her low, velvet-rough voice. "Remove your hand unless you want to lose it."

"You wound me," he said, grinning.

"I'd rather stab you with my sword." She moved out from under his fingers and stood. Roy didn't hear the tell-tale rattle of that saber, and wondered if she could actually be in civilian clothing. Damn it, this loss of sight couldn't have come at a worse time. "But, as I know those guards of yours aren't going to give us much time, I thought I should let you know that my brother will be taking care of the Elrics."

"Good." Edward trusted Strongarm, and probably wouldn't give him too much grief. And the sheer mass of the man would make the guards hesitate, giving the Elrics a chance to get out of the hospital without much trouble. At least, that's what Roy hoped. "Anything else?"

"Oh. Yes." Armstrong slammed something into his chest, making him gasp. "Alex Louis thought you needed flowers."

Roy coughed, grasping the pot of what smelled like freesia. "Tell him thanks," he managed to spit out.

"If I remember." She stood up. "I suppose I should tell you thank you, Mustang. You have helped clear my way to the Fuhrer's seat."

"I didn't do it for you." Setting the pot on the bench next to him, Roy didn't bother hiding the pain in his chest. "I did it to protect the people of Amestris."

Armstrong made no response to that; instead, she went off on a slightly different tack. "You know, you could have disappeared, you and your entire team. Alex Louis would have helped you vanish. And I know about your aunt, and her abilities to transport items across this country and into others. There is a tunnel that surrounds Amestris, and you know how effective it is, to hide not just people, but entire troops." Roy heard a rustle of fabric, and guessed she folded her arms. "So, the question becomes, why are you not taking advantage of any of these choices?"

"Sometimes, running away isn't an option." Roy tilted his head up toward her. "Besides, you'd find me even more distasteful if I cut and run, even if I did it to save my men." Smirking, he added, "And I don't want to be any more distasteful to you than I already am, Olivier."

The bark of a laugh let him know he'd struck close. "I suppose you're right, Mustang, though I hate to think you'd do this just to try and impress me." She lowered her voice. "You're simply not my type at all."

"You have no idea how disappointing that is to me, Olivier. I'm wounded." Roy clutched at his chest, wincing for real at the spot she'd hit with the potted plant. He got to his feet. "I don't suppose you could lead me back to Hawkeye."

"I'm not your guide dog, Mustang," Armstrong snorted. "Stay here, and she'll come find you. Maybe. Or, if not her, your little friends. That little display of leg and crumpled metal won't keep them distracted for long."

"You are a cruel woman, Olivier."

"I am not a dreamer. I am practical." Roy could feel her looking down on him. "You and my brother, even Fullmetal, you're all romantics. That's what's going to get you killed."

X X X

The tall hedges around the park provided an excellent shade, and Kimblee took advantage of it, settling onto a bench backed up nearly against the yew. Soon, he knew he'd need to enter the hospital, or leave the area; his bladder already protested the too-sweet cold drink he'd had from the vendor earlier.

Birds pecked around on the sidewalk nearby; mourning doves and robins, taking Kimblee back to his childhood and how he'd entertained himself with such small animals. He'd been an inquisitive child, very intrigued by the way things worked, and that included the mechanics of muscle and bone, not to mention how creatures reacted to certain kinds of stimuli. Over time, he'd learned he could make people react by simply using words – a fascinating discovery, and one he employed as often as he could. Kimblee supposed that as part of the reason he'd sided with the homunculi – it wasn't just the thought there would be a brand new world if they'd won the battle, but their reactions, or at least Envy's, were so very extreme.

Kimblee sighed through his nose. There were definitely times when he missed Envy, and the company the homunculus offered. Envy's shape-changing abilities would have been helpful at this point. Pride had been amusing, in its own way, but not as direct in its hatred of humans as Envy had been, and, its childlike appearance aside, it didn't enjoy playing the games Envy did. Kimblee wondered what might have happened had he met Envy earlier in his life. Now, he, himself, was the only one left of that group, and only because Pride had swallowed him. Its lack of control once reduced to an embryonic state by Edward Elric surprised Kimblee. He thought Pride would've fought harder to keep its life. Instead, its body remained behind, some remnants of its Philosopher's Stone fueling both it and Kimblee's lifeforce, but Kimblee discovered his own force of will was far stronger than Pride's – despite the creature's name.

A movement at the doorway caught his eye, and Kimblee glanced that way, tucking himself back deeper into the shadows when he realized Hawkeye and Mustang were exiting the hospital's rotating doors. The soldiers at the entrance moved to intercept them, but, with impeccable timing, a car appeared around the corner of the building, revving down the street as if the driver had lost control of the machine. The tires squealed as the car swerved, leaping the curb, and crashing into the hospital wall.

Kimblee smirked to himself as the soldiers hesitated a second, then turned to investigate the car and the lovely blond woman within it. Flame and his adjutant walked toward the park, just a few meters away. Kimblee hoped his signature white suit didn't attract Hawkeye's attention. Then again, being as close as he was to a hospital, maybe he'd be mistaken for a doctor.

As it was, she seemed far more solicitous of Mustang than watching her surroundings, making sure he crossed the street promptly, but with care, too. As Hawkeye led Mustang deeper into the park, Kimblee took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of leaking petrol, the stink of hospital's furnace, the faint, sweet smell of green, growing things. Kimblee tapped his fingers on the bench, and made his decision.

Before he could actually rise to his feet, he spotted something that he hadn't expected. "Strongarm?" What reason did he have to visit the hospital? Frowning, Kimblee got up, heading to the nearest telephone booth. He thought he could convince Archer to send a few extra soldiers to handle the alchemists, or at least, make a show of handling them. When he got through today, Kimblee planned on at least one of them being dead.


	7. Hero

**Chapter Six: Hero**  
_Don't be a hero, don't be a fool with your life_  
**Paper Lace, Billy, "Don't Be a Hero"**

It was hard, just as hard as Winry'd expected, but going through it with Alphonse was even worse than telling Edward. Alphonse couldn't control his emotions yet, and broke down sobbing. Edward patted his brother's head, his mouth drawn into a thin, grim line. Paninya withdrew to the foot of the bed so Winry could hug Alphonse, his shudders transmitting through to her, making her cry, too.

"I can't believe it," Alphonse mumbled into her shoulder. "All three of them?" His voice broke, and he started crying again.

Winry looked at Edward over Alphonse's head. He held her gaze, his eyes red, though she couldn't see any tears. His larynx bobbed repeatedly, though, and she wondered how hard he fought to hold it in. Stretching, she grabbed for his shirt, the only thing she could reach, and tugged. Edward shifted even closer, sandwiching Alphonse between them. Winry slid her hand to the center of his back, and glanced down at Paninya. She beckoned her friend with her head, and Paninya hesitated for an instant, until Edward nodded, then she crawled up, putting her arms around them, too.

Alphonse hiccupped, and sniffled, and finally grew silent. Winry leaned back, ducking her head so she could look into his face. "You should rest," she told him.

"I c-can't… Granny, and Dad, and Den." Another wave of tears brightened his eyes.

Edward ruffled Alphonse's hair, pressing his cheek against Alphonse's shoulder. Paninya rubbed his legs. Winry stroked his back, trying not to grimace at the bumps of his spine. How could Paninya talk about how cute Alphonse was, when he was just skin and bones?

"I want to go to their graves, Ed," Alphonse raised his head, determined. "I want to say my goodbyes."

Edward grimaced, sucking air through his teeth. "Al."

"You can't go looking like this," Paninya said, petting his bony shin.

"I'm still going!" Alphonse's voice rose, making Winry wince. "I'm going to go to Risembool." He thumped his balled-up fist on the mattress. "You can help me or not, but I'm going!"

The door opened, a nurse peering in. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and she said, sharply, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Major Elric, and you, too." She pointed her chin at Paninya and Winry. "You're upsetting Alphonse."

"No, Nurse Harrigan," Alphonse said, clutching at Winry's arm with bony fingers. "They're fine, it's just," his eyes teared up again.

"That's it," Nurse Harrigan said, "I need you to leave now." When Edward opened his mouth, she added, "Please don't make me call security."

Winry slipped off the bed, but paused to wrap an arm around Alphonse, pressing her forehead against his cheek for a second. "She's right, Al, you need to rest. You'll feel better afterward." She wiped the tears off his cheek, hoping she wasn't lying.

"Yeah, Al," Edward sighed, and dropped off the bed with a loud thump. "We'll be back. But you need to rest up, and get better." He squeezed Alphonse's arm. "Maybe I'll have all my limbs when you wake up."

Alphonse managed a watery smile. "Yeah, that'd be great." His hand trembled when he tried to wipe his eyes.

"You can all see him tomorrow," Nurse Harrigan said. "Now, I need you to get out of his room." She made a shooing motion at them as Paninya hopped off the bed.

"Later, Al," she said, winking at him.

"Yeah." With a shuddering sigh, Alphonse lay down. He smiled again, for Edward. "I'll be okay, Ed."

Edward clenched his hand into a fist, but raised it toward Alphonse in that gesture he used as he backed out the door. Paninya grabbed her bag and the automail case as Winry picked up her own luggage, following Edward out the door. He stalked down the hall, his shoulders tight. Before he got halfway down the corridor, he let out a loud grunt, kicking a trashcan and denting it.

"Wow," Paninya muttered.

"Ed," Winry started to say, then snapped her mouth closed. That same pair of soldiers were watching. Instead of saying anything more, she bumped Edward's ribs with her elbow, frowning at him when he grunted and turned on her. "Ed, we can't do anything now. And I don't know about you, but Paninya and I need something to eat." As soon as she mentioned eating, she winced. Alphonse was flesh and bone again, instead of armor, but still in a horrible state. "Is there a café in the hospital?"

Edward's glare bounced off her and he shot it instead at Alphonse's door. "Yeah. But late as it is, it's closed." Growling, he turned away from Winry. "There's a little place, a coupla blocks away."

"So you'll take us there?" Paninya asked brightly.

"And we'll need a place to stay, and somewhere I can work on your arm," Winry reminded Edward.

He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been sleeping in the hospital."

Winry couldn't fold her arms with her toolkit and bag in her hands, so she settled for a toss of her head. "Yeah, I can smell." Edward squeaked out something that made Winry want to use her oil can. Paninya couldn't quite smother her giggles with her hands. "Seriously, Ed! You need a bath, and you ought to wash your hair – it looks tarnished."

"Nng!" Showing his teeth at her, Edward leaned closer, obviously preparing for an argument. A coughed laugh from someone outside their circle made Edward clench his jaw. "Come on," he growled, jerking his head to lead Winry and Paninya along.

The soldiers shifted to block the elevator door. "Major Elric," the taller one said, and Winry winced inwardly at the tone of his voice.

"Yeah," Edward said curtly, "what is it, Sergeant?"

"I'm afraid I need to know where you're going." He mouthed the words politely enough, but his face looked like stone. Beside her, Winry felt Paninya shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and knew her friend was getting ready to do something.

Edward stiffened, his chin tilting up. "I'm taking these two to get a hotel room, not that it's any of your business."

The elevator bell chimed, interrupting the sergeant, and the doors opened to release the bulk of a large man's body. Major Armstrong stepped out and Winry could swear the air around him glittered. "Ah, Major Edward Elric! It is so good to see you!" He strode through the hall, scattering the two soldiers like they were chickens. "And Alphonse, he's on this floor, too? Excellent. Doctor? Please, come with me."

A red-haired woman appeared out of the elevator. A rounder, older, blond nurse followed close behind. The doctor nodded tightly at them while the nurse smiled. Somehow, Winry thought the nurse looked familiar, then realized her features were similar to Major Armstrong's, and snapped her mouth shut. "Where is Mr. Alphonse Elric?" the doctor asked, with an accent Winry didn't recognize.

Paninya pointed dumbly back down the hall, blinking up at Major Armstrong.

"There, Doctor," Major Armstrong boomed, following Paninya's gesture with one of his own. "Please, see to your patient."

"That is not allowed, sir," the sergeant said, stepping into the path of the red-headed woman.

"Not allowed?" Moustache bristling, Major Armstrong loomed over the two soldiers. "I do not understand what you are saying, Sergeant. Alphonse Elric needs additional care. A private doctor and nurse can provide that care, far better than hospital staff. Not that there is anything wrong with this hospital, but current staff is overwhelmed with the patients who have needed their assistance since the eclipse."

Edward gaped at Major Armstrong. "What's going on?"

"I have taken the liberty of requesting Dr. Anderson to see to your younger brother. She has dealt with these types of cases in the past," Major Armstrong said. Winry watched the red-headed doctor and her blond nurse push into Alphonse's room. She took a step toward it, then hesitated, glancing back at Major Armstrong. He made a beckoning motion at her with the hand farthest away from the soldiers, his body blocking the movement. Paninya grabbed Winry's elbow, pulling her closer. Edward moved, too, though toward Alphonse's room. "Edward Elric, please, let Dr. Anderson do her job," Major Armstrong said.

"But," Edward half-turned back to Major Armstrong. Whatever else he might've said was lost in the explosion that rocked the building.

X X X

The soldiers arrived only about fifteen minutes after Kimblee made his call. The gratification of prompt responses reminded Kimblee of why he enjoyed the military. So punctual. So willing to believe anyone who had a rank higher than them. "Gentlemen," Kimblee said, "today, we are collecting the Flame Alchemist. He has had orders to remain confined to quarters, specifically, the hospital room where he has been…resting…since his injuries."

There was a faint murmuring, like the susurration of leaves in a gentle breeze, but no one made any disagreement. Kimblee tapped his fingertips together. "He is currently within the park boundaries," he'd made sure of that, finding Mustang on a bench, though not approaching. There were other plays that required his attention before he confronted Flame again. "Mustang may try to talk his way out of your control. Do not listen to him." Kimblee punctuated that sentence by pointing at each of the six soldiers. "The Flame Alchemist is known as the Hero of Ishbal. He must have his ignition gloves to activate the circle that transmutes his fire alchemy. That doesn't mean he might not have other tricks up his sleeve. Be careful, and be cautious. There is a reason why the Ishbalans still fear him. The fact he is blind does not mean he is not dangerous." Kimblee folded his arms. "Do I make myself clear, soldiers?"

"Yes, sir!" they responded together.

He allowed himself a faint smile. "Excellent. There are a few more alchemists that we should be wary of. The Strongarm Alchemist and the Fullmetal Alchemist are also within the hospital currently. I do not think they will cause us any worries, but I wanted you to be aware."

"Yes, sir!"

Soldiers, so perfectly biddable. Kimblee smiled broadly. "Go fetch Mustang, and bring him back here to me." Not bothering to watch them trot off, Kimblee turned his attention to the hospital again. He had other things to take care of, and if that car hadn't been cleared away, it would make a good starting point for what he had planned.

X X X

The cadenced steps alerted Roy that his guardians had managed to find him. He smiled, getting to his feet. "Ah, I was hoping someone would come and take me back to the hospital."

The sound of safeties being flicked off of pistols startled him. "Freeze, Flame Alchemist!"

The incongruity of it nearly made him laugh, but Roy raised his hands to shoulder level. "Gentlemen, I assure you, I am unarmed, and no threat."

"Shut up!" the youngish voice said. "Get down on your knees."

"You are aware I am blind," Roy said, but he carefully eased his way down to one knee. The hospital sandals did nothing to protect his feet from the cement. He managed not to wince at the scrape on the top of his left big toe. Dropping his hand to the rough pathway to keep his balance, he heard an intake of breath from one of the men surrounding him. "I am no threat," he repeated carefully. "Or would you rather me be face-down?"

"Shut. Up." The young tough approached close enough that Roy could smell the polish on his shoes. Something hard pressed against his skull, and Roy identified it as the muzzle of a pistol. "You were not supposed to leave the hospital," the man whispered. The pressure against Roy's head forced it sideways. "Do you understand? There are people terrified of alchemists."

"I was unaware that I was confined to quarters," Roy said, deliberately slow. "I will be happy to accompany you back to my hospital room." Feeling the faint tremor running through the pistol to his head, Roy froze. He bit his tongue, the pain forcing him to concentrate on something other than the gun, thinking it was a good thing Hawkeye wasn't anywhere close by. He could only imagine how she might react to this scenario.

"Damn right you will," the soldier hissed. "And you'll be a good little soldier, won't you? Obey the rules, just like the dog you are. Your staff is under our surveillance, you know, and you, you are next on the chopping block."

"Then you know I'll be a very good dog," Roy said, through his teeth.

"I know that you slipped your collar once before, Colonel." He made the title sound like a curse. "And you've tried to slip it again today. There's no reason I shouldn't take my shot now. It'd save the citizens the trial fees."

Roy gritted his teeth as the barrel moved down to his temple, caressing it. "Repeating popular press? I'd expect better."

The muzzle pushed harder against his temple. "Where do you think they came up with the quote?"

Roy sighed, his body slumping. "You have me. I am in your control."

"Damn straight," the young man gloated. There was a hesitation, and he said, "You, and you, help him up. Keep your hands on him, though; don't let go. He's tricky. Don't let his sightlessness fool you. He was still using his alchemy after he lost his sight. It's in the reports."

The pistol pulled slightly away from Roy's temple as two pairs of hands grabbed him roughly under the arms to haul him up to his feet. Roy let them manipulate him as if he was a doll, his weight dragging them down. He mumbled to his captors, "Sorry. I really am blind. Please let me know where the curb is? I don't want to trouble you by falling."

"Maybe we'll just drop you in the street," one of the men grumbled.

"Not enough traffic," the other one, taller, and on his left, sighed.

Roy caught a whiff of something, a smell all too familiar. Petrol. What had Rachel done when she'd crashed her car?

"Are we really taking him back to the hospital room?"

"Chase is calling the shots." There was a slight hesitation, and the one on the left said, grudgingly, "Curb."

"I'm surprised they didn't get that accident cleaned up yet," the right-sided soldier said, tsking.

"Was anyone hurt?" Roy asked, feeling for the edge of the curb and stepping down carefully.

"No, but the car," left-hand let out a low whistle, then said, "_kwisssh,_" for emphasis.

The wind funneled by the park on one side and the hospital building on the other. The sounds let Roy know where people were – gathered around the smell of petroleum, their voices and the stink coming to him together on the breeze. Roy blinked, wishing, briefly, for Hawkeye and her hand on his shoulder, guiding him.

The soft clap of a gun firing and the whine of a bullet cutting through air alerted him. There was a scream, and the men holding Roy's arms stiffened in shock. Another crack-whiz sent a lot of screamers scattering. "What the hell?" the soldier on the right said, his grip on Roy's arm loosening.

"Sniper!" the youngish commander shouted, "arms at ready!"

"You, stay out of the way," the left-hand soldier snapped, shoving Roy back. And just like that, Roy was free. He took a step away, listening closely, not to the shouts of the soldiers, but the other sounds. Another crack-whiz, coming from another direction, and it struck something metallic. Roy couldn't help his smirk. He had his trajectory; knew which way to aim.

Alchemy without a transmutation circle still seemed too strange, but Roy pressed his hands together before snapping his fingers, sending a thin gout of flame straight at the wrecked car. The satisfying 'whump' of the car exploding nearly drowned out the additional screams the detonation caused.

"Stand down, stand down!" someone screamed. "Mustang, stand down!"

Roy smiled at the sound of pistols cocking, and touched his palms again.

The explosion that happened afterward sent him flying.

X X X

Kimblee rubbed his hands together, smiling as the fire rained down on the soldiers and Roy Mustang. "Sorry, Flame, but it's time you were actually useful to me." Moving back out of the way of the frightened, running people, he settled himself against the hedge. There might still be a drama to be played out, and right now, he had the front row. If only the seating was better.

He supposed that beggars really couldn't be choosers, and really, it was better in this position than what he'd seen during the Promised Day. Smiling faintly, he addressed his little parasite. "Pride, would you like to see what a very minor hell looks like?"

There was no answer, and Kimblee's smile grew. Maybe Pride had grown tired, and given up, though he doubted it. He thought the homunculus might be biding its time, waiting for him to lose control, so it could wrest it back.

Well, he'd have to remain alert to that threat. It was about the only one he could foresee at the moment, unless Archer decided to send him back to prison. Another possibility, but less likely to happen. Kimblee had waited long years for his release from incarceration, and he didn't intend to return, no matter what the circumstances. His friend, if Envy could be considered a friend, had released him from jail, and if nothing else, Kimblee owed the homunculus for his freedom.

"I know that's probably a strange thing, to you, to consider how Envy might have felt dying," Kimblee told Pride. "But Envy was my ally, in every sense of the word. You, on the other hand, ate me."

_Do you think Envy wouldn't have done the same, given the proper circumstances?_ Pride asked, sounding so very haughty.

"Possibly, but I guess we'll never know, will we?" Kimblee watched as a soldier fell into the consuming flames. The sweet smell of cooking meat perfumed the air, bringing back far too many memories. If only he had someone who appreciated his art with him today.

X X X

Winry realized she was on the floor, her ears ringing. Someone's hard hand crushed her wrist, and she could just make out the sound of her name. " – inry!"

"What?" she shouted back, shaking her head and opening and closing her mouth to try to make her ears pop. Smoke clouded the hall, making it hard to see, and to breathe. She coughed, rubbing at her eyes.

"Get up! We have to get out of here!" Edward yelled, leaning so close to her face, their noses nearly touched. Blood stained his bangs and streaked his face. It looked like that old wound above his eyebrow had reopened.

"Right," Winry said grimly, managing to get her feet under her, ignoring the twinge in her left thigh, realizing she'd landed on her toolkit. She grabbed it with her free hand, shakily getting up. "Al? Paninya?"

"Armstrong. He grabbed Al, and Paninya went with them. I told them I'd get you out!" Edward pulled at her. Winry took the hint and got up. Her leg nearly gave way for a second, sending her staggering into the wall. "Are you okay?" Edward kept hold of her wrist.

"Yeah, Ed." Taking a shaky breath, Winry straightened. "The automail case?"

"Hnn! Don't worry about that! We've got to get out of here." Glancing around, Edward gave her arm a tug. "Stairs, there. Come on, Winry."

She stumbled along for a few steps but caught her balance and kept moving. Head aching, half-blind and –deaf, she trusted Edward to pull her along. He coughed, kicking at the door to force it open. "Wait a second." Holding her back to let a stretcher go by, Edward flashed a grim look that only grew darker as they entered the stream of people on the stairs.

The stairway was clogged with hospital staff and the patients they could move down them. Winry heard people crying, and could smell smoke and blood. Part of her wanted to stop, to help, but Edward didn't give her a chance. His expression, when he glanced back and up at her, told her just how much he hated himself for not letting her help. For not stopping, himself. "We have to get to Al," he coughed, and she nodded, letting him pull her along.

Winry trusted Major Armstrong to get Alphonse out of the hospital, and Paninya to stick close to him. It wouldn't be too hard to find them once Edward and she got outside, she was sure of it. Edward's tread rang out on the concrete, one step louder than the other from the weight of his automail. He kept his balance on the stairs by gripping her wrist, sometimes by bouncing off the wall. Winry stabilized him on his left side as best she could.

Four floors lay between them and the street, and Winry only had to haul back on Edward once to keep him from tumbling down the stairs. Finally, they reached the ground floor, exiting the stairwell to find a mass of people, fighting to leave the hospital. Edward gnashed his teeth, twisting from side to side, standing on his toes in an attempt to see over the heads of the people around them. "Damn it!"

"There, Ed!" Winry pulled him this time, toward a narrow hallway with a door at the end. Edward had to kick it open, too, his metal leg battering at the doorknob until it broke, sending the door flying wildly. It crashed into the wall but they'd already made their way through before the door bounced closed.

"Where the hell are we?" Edward coughed, shaking his head, slinging blood from his cut. "Shit!"

"Alley, it looks like. That way." It was her turn to lead Edward, and Winry moved quickly through the wide alley, heading for a splash of green ahead of them. She thought it might be the park across the street from the hospital. What safer place to be than out in the open?

Edward's head came up like a restless horse. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" Winry couldn't hear much; her ears still rang from the blast.

"Guns," Edward said grimly. "Stay back."

"I'm not waiting here," Winry argued. "If the building comes down - "

"Nng! I don't think there'll be another explosion!" His teeth flashed in emphasis.

"I don't care!"

Edward shook his head at her determination, but gave up after a split second. "Fine! Stay behind me, then!" Creeping to the alley's entrance, Edward blocked Winry with his body as he peered around the corner of the building. "Damn it, what's going on out there?"

Peering over his shoulder, Winry caught sight of a mass of blue uniforms, surrounding someone who looked to be wearing hospital whites. A fire crackled behind the man in white, sending billowing clouds of black smoke toward the sky. More people were leaving the hospital in mobs, massing in front of the building, blocking Winry's view of the soldiers. She turned her attention instead to trying to spot Major Armstrong. His height and girth made him stand out in the crowd, and it only took a few seconds for her to find him. "Ed, it's Major Armstrong." She couldn't see Alphonse, but surely he had to be with the Major. "Ed?"

He'd taken a few steps outside the alley. "What the hell?" Spinning back around, Edward shoved her into the alley, pressing her against a wall. "Winry, you need to stay here."

"What?" Winry slapped his chest with her free hand. "Ed, we should to go to the Major!"

"You can," Edward told her, glancing over his shoulder, "but the bastard's in trouble. I can't just let him face this alone!"

"Ed." Her voice trailed off. He didn't even seem to be listening to her. Gritting her teeth, Winry pushed at him. "Ed! What about Al?"

Gunfire erupted and Edward jerked, almost as if he'd been the one hit. "No!" He froze after lunging out of the alley. Winry crashed into his back, rocking him, but not hard enough to knock him down. She couldn't see anything at first, then a dark-haired man straightened in front of the flaming car. The soldiers crouched in front of him, some of them pointing their pistols away from the burning wreck, others aiming directly at the man. Winry gasped, realizing she recognized him.

Edward let out a growl, his body tensing. "Winry, get to Armstrong. He'll make sure you're safe."

She grabbed his arm before he could move. "No, Ed, you can't."

Jerking at her grip, Edward shot her a furious glare. "Go! I can't protect you! He can!"

"You're not going over there!" Winry wrapped her other arm around his waist, holding him back. "Ed!"

People from the hospital screamed and scattered as gunfire erupted again. One of the soldiers fell with a curse, loud enough to be heard even where they stood. Straining against her grip, Edward squirmed sideways, pulling free. "Mustang!" he yelled.  
The dark-haired man turned his head, and even at the distance, Winry could see the shock on his face. It firmed into a grim mask, and the man raised his right hand, not quite forming a fist. Edward screamed, "No!"

The burning car suddenly exploded, the flames roaring toward the sky, sending the soldiers scrabbling backward. The blast crashed into Edward and Winry, flinging them to the sidewalk. Winry couldn't remember a pain like this; Edward sprawled partially on her, struggling to sit up, his automail bruising her leg. Her side and back and elbows felt bruised, too. Managing to get semi-upright, Edward stared at the flames, one eye half-closed from blood running down his face, the other wide and staring.

Winry grunted, trying not to remember the last time she'd fallen so hard. Screams seemed to come from far away, but one thing came all too clear – a single gunshot. The crack of it echoed off the building.

Edward screamed, loud and wordless, a howl that cut through her heart as the dark-haired man fell backward into the flames, the fire gouting up even higher.


	8. Destination, Anywhere

**Chapter Seven: Destination, Anywhere**  
_Destination, anywhere,  
East or west, I don't care_  
**The Commitments, "Destination, Anywhere"**

Paninya wasn't about to let go of the automail case. If she didn't drop it, Winry and Edward would be okay. They'd be coming out of that building any second now, and come running over to her. Well, not her, maybe; but definitely Alphonse, and the really huge soldier carrying Alphonse in his arms.

As if he'd realized she was looking at him, the soldier turned his bright blue eyes her way. "Are you keeping up, young lady?"

"I'm fine, sir!" she chirped, but couldn't help but look over her shoulder, hoping to spy her friends.

"Do not worry, young lady," the soldier boomed, "Edward Elric will protect Miss Rockbell."

"If Brother isn't being an idiot," came Alphonse's weak voice. He coughed, and added hastily, almost before he'd finished coughing, "I'm fine, Major!"

"You will be," the soldier said, almost softly. He led the way across a street, toward the swatch of green that had fascinated Paninya earlier. "I have a car waiting," he said, turning back toward the hospital. "Once I get you home, Alphonse Elric, you will have excellent care. Dr. Anderson and Nurse Miller have been family physicians for the Armstrong family for years! You will soon be strong and healthy again! And I will take care of your physical training!"

Alphonse blanched, and Paninya wasn't sure how he could get even more pale. "But," he protested, "Winry. She's always done our – I mean, Ed's therapy. I was thinking," his voice trailed off as the major turned in place. "What…what's that?"

Paninya craned her neck, peering out from behind the soldier's bulk. There was a fire burning up against the hospital wall, the flames shooting high enough to crack the second story windows. "Wow," she whispered.

"Flame," the soldier rumbled, sounding shocked.

Yeah, there were a lot of them, Paninya thought, horrified. Some more men in blue were near the fire, with another man, dressed in hospital whites, like Alphonse.

"That's Colonel Mustang!" Alphonse said, and Paninya glanced up at him. "Major, put me down, please – go help him!" He batted at the major's chest, as effective as a kitten smacking a building. "Please, Major Armstrong!"

He swallowed, his larynx bobbing, and he turned his face away. "I have a duty to you and this young woman," the major said, though Paninya could swear she saw tears in his eyes. "I cannot assist Colonel Mustang at this time." He straightened, clutching Alphonse even closer to his chest. "And I made a promise to take care of you, Alphonse Elric." He added lowly, "I have my orders."

Paninya jerked, almost like she'd been hit. Turning toward the hospital, she watched the fire leap higher, licking all the way up to the third floor windows. "But there all those people inside!"

"Yeah," Alphonse agreed, squirming in the major's arms. "We can't let them die!"

Moustache twitching, Major Armstrong fixed them both with a beady glare. "No," he said, "you are both correct; we cannot let anything more happen to them." He glanced around, spotting something. "Miss, come with me." Without waiting for her response, he strode off, forcing Paninya to run along after him. He stopped abruptly, next to a bench in the shade of some large bushes. "Here, Alphonse Elric," the major said, as he placed Alphonse on the bench, "you wait here with young young friend."

Alphonse shook his head, stubborn, trying to stand up on his spindly legs. "I can help you!"

"You cannot help me, Alphonse Elric, not in the shape you are in. Wait here. Miss, please look for Edward Elric and Miss Rockbell."

Paninya nodded rapidly, already moving to stand on the bench so she could see over the heads of the scattering people. Alphonse tried to take a step after the major as he made his way back through the crowd, but Paninya grabbed him by the collar of his hospital gown. "Uh-uh, Al, you have to stay here."

"But I can help, Paninya!" Alphonse turned eyes that were better suited to a puppy on her.

"You can't even walk three steps! And Ed and Winry would kill me if I let anything happen to you!"

"Then you can come with me," he pleaded. "Please!"

"No, Al!" Paninya shook her head. She didn't know anything about alchemy, and whether Alphonse needed to be healed to be able to power however it was that alchemy worked. "You're not strong enough." She tapped his shoulder lightly, nearly knocking him backward with that push. "Sit down, Al, please."

His spindly hands clenched into fists. "I have to do something!"

"You have to wait, Alphonse."

Her voice was low and vibrant, and Paninya gaped up at another tall person, a woman with long, blond hair. She swooped down to Alphonse's level, and still towered over him. "You can do nothing, Alphonse. Not yet. You must wait. I know it makes your skin crawl that you have to, but you are not well enough to do anything. You must heal, and later, you can fight."

Alphonse's mouth fell open. "Major General Armstrong?" he whispered.

She frowned sharply and Alphonse winced. "No titles, no names. And you and your friend are coming with me, since you convinced _him_ to get involved." She scooped up Alphonse like a baby. He squeaked, his eyes huge, as Major General Armstrong started walking. "Hopefully, someone can find your brother." Giving Paninya a look over her shoulder, she beckoned with a toss of her glorious long hair. "Come along."

"But," Alphonse started to protest, quailing back from the glare the major general gave him.

Paninya chewed on her lower lip, glancing back at the hospital. "Sorry, Winry," she whispered. "I'll see you soon." Refreshing her grip on the automail case, she trotted after the blond woman carrying her friend.

X X X

Flames seared the walls of the hospital, blackening and blistering the white paint. The stink of roasting pork made Edward heave. He swallowed hard, trying to keep control of his stomach. His throat ached, something he just realized. Soldiers scattered in front of the flames, some of them on fire. A few hospital workers were trying to help them, but no one made a move toward those burning within the largest fire.

" – ward! Ed!"

Someone screamed his name almost in his ear, jerking on his arm. Edward yanked free, his body spinning automatically. His fist clenched hard as a hammer as he drew it back, cocked it, let it fly.

Realization struck as soon as he met her eyes - _Winry!_ His muscles screamed in protest as Edward tried to throw himself sideways, pivoting on his heel to knock himself off target. "Gnnn!" He crashed to the sidewalk, his knees cracking so hard on the cement, he nearly bit his tongue off. Tasting blood, Edward spat red.

"Ed!" Winry was on her knees next to him, her hands on his shoulders. Tears pooled in her eyes as she said something, but Edward couldn't even hear the words through the pounding in his skull. He'd nearly fucking _hit_ her. She shook him, hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "Edward!"

"Shut up, Winry!" Edward raised his hand to force her back, ignoring how her face crumbled. Mustang, he couldn't have – could he? If the bastard was going to fucking commit suicide, he wouldn't have taken out those soldiers, would he? They were just doing their fucking job! Edward pushed to his feet, trying to see what was happening, swearing under his breath that the knots of people and his lack of height kept him from knowing anything.

"Ed," Winry cried, "we have to leave!"

He waved her off. "You can go – go find Al!"

"I'm not leaving without you!" Winry snatched his shirt, holding him there. "Ed, we have to get out of here!"

Rounding, Edward leaned into her, his teeth gritted and his hand balled up. "Let me go, Winry."

"You can't help him, Ed." Winry twisted her hand even tighter in his shirt. "There's nothing you can do. Please!"

Edward ground his teeth together, looking toward the hospital, and the flames licking up the walls. A massive bald man was moving through the screaming crowds. Armstrong had worked with the bastard before; maybe he could contain the fire, but still. "Damn it!" he howled, whirling away from Winry, his shirt ripping from her grip from the force of his turn.

"Ed!" she cried out, but he left her behind, shoving his way through the crowds. He ignored Winry's yells behind him, blocking her fear. Mustang wasn't that much of a fucking idiot, was he? He wouldn't have done that, commit –

He couldn't even say the word in his mind. Edward kept pushing and pushing until the heat of the flame slapped him in the face. The fire ate through the hospital walls. Ashed, smoking bodies lay in its wake. A crumpled car sat in the midst of the flames, making Edward wonder why it was there. Why Mustang had been out of the hospital? He wouldn't have caused the explosion, would he?

The roar of the fire almost drowned out the screams and the shouts of the people still leaving the hospital in droves. Edward took a deep breath, staring at the flames. The heat made his eyes water, and he swiped his hand across his brow. "Bastard," he whispered. Winry was right, there was nothing he could do for Mustang, but Alphonse, he still needed his big brother. "Fuck!" Spinning away from the fire, Edward pushed his way back through the crowds, hoping he'd be able to find Winry again. He wouldn't blame her if she'd left him.

Edward got back to the curb, turning in a slow circle, trying to spot Winry in the crowds of people still running away from the burning building. Eyes burning, he wiped them again, blinking away the blurriness. He saw an old man get knocked down and started forward, only to stop when someone else pulled the man up to his feet, keeping an arm around him to help him away.

A clear, bell-like tone alerted Edward and he turned back toward the hospital. Armstrong activated a transmutation circle, sending a wave of detritus toward the fire. Not quite enough to extinguish it, the bodies were at least covered. Edward closed his eyes for a second, a flash of vertigo fogging his brain, making him feel like he was going to fall. Staggering, he fought to keep his balance.

"Ed." Winry's hand slid around his back and she pressed up to his right side, where his arm should've been. "We've got to get out of here."

He wouldn't ask how she found him. With a shuddering sigh, Edward rested against her for a second, pressing his face into her shoulder. "Yeah." They couldn't stay like that forever, though, and Edward straightened, shaking himself like a dog coming out of the water. "Armstrong got Al and Paninya to safety." He had to think that way. Armstrong wouldn't have waded back into the crowds unless he'd made sure Alphonse was safe, right? And the last time he'd seen Paninya, she was right behind Armstrong. "But we don't know where, so we have to get someplace safe before we can find them. Come on." Edward started moving, Winry walking with him, following the crowd for now.

"Where?" Winry asked, and if they hadn't been so close together, with her arm around his waist, Edward knew he wouldn't have heard her.

"Not the Hughes'." Edward had considered that idea for a split second, but Mrs. Hughes didn't need any more bad news at her doorstep. He knew where someone else lived in Central City, though, and thought they'd probably be safe there. "At the next corner, we need to go right."

Besides, he thought Lieutenant Hawkeye might be in need of some company.

X X X

Kimblee allowed the fleeing hospital patrons to buffet him, though he remained relatively immobile. He wanted to smile, to laugh, to clap his hands together and create more havoc, but restrained himself. Already, one of the State Alchemists was gone. Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, taken out by the same flames that had destroyed so many Ishbalans. Now, his body crisped like so many of the participants in the Ishbalan War. It had only taken a little extra nudge of Kimblee's alchemy to set off the conflagration currently destroying the hospital's eastern wing. Well, that and the explosion he'd set off earlier.

And look at the carnage! Bodies – not nearly enough, not yet, but a good start – littered the sidewalk and roadway, at least, those not covered by Armstrong's impromptu fire-fighting techniques. And Kimblee had seen Edward Elric approaching the flames, searching for some sign of Mustang's survival. Kimblee had nearly acted then, remembering through what remained of Pride's memories, how Edward had attacked Father, and Pride, too. What little remained of the tiny homunculus's – for lack of a better word – soul was too weak to wrest control of this body from Kimblee. Still, that distraction gave Elric the time to escape back into the crowds, but with Kimblee making a mental note. Yes, Edward Elric would be recognizable as long as he was still missing his right arm.

X X X

The immensity of the house was not lost on Alphonse. He gaped up at the huge building in front of him, highlighted by the setting sun. "Where are we?"

"The Armstrong family mansion," Major General Armstrong said. "You will be safe here for the moment." She piloted the car around to the back of the monstrous house, one that seemed even bigger than the Central City military headquarters.

Goggling, Alphonse asked, "How many people live here?"

"My parents and little sister and Alex Louis. My older sisters when they're in town. Servants."

Alphonse startled at someone touching his hand, glancing toward Paninya. Her eyes were huge in her face, and she mouthed the word, "Wow," without making a sound.

"My brother should be coming home shortly." Major General Armstrong stopped the car and putting on the parking brake. It still rumbled softly to itself. "Hopefully, he will have your brother in tow." Getting out of the car, she spoke to a man who trotted from out of another building, one that seemed to have at least eight cars inside of it. He saluted her, then opened the back door, offering Paninya a hand to get out. Alphonse didn't see if she took it, since Major General Armstrong opened the door on his side. "Are you ready?" she asked, and, without waiting for an answer, scooped him up to carry him inside.

Paninya grabbed both of the cases, hauling them with her as she trotted to catch up to Major General Armstrong. Alphonse tried not to squirm in her grip, but it was hard not to. The Major General carried him into the mansion, striding through the building, her shoes rapping out a cadence on the marble floor. She headed directly for a staircase, not stopping but climbing quickly up it, leaving Paninya jogging behind.

"This is a guest room," Major General Armstrong said, pushing a door open with her shoulder. "You can stay here tonight." Pausing next to the bed, she said, "Girl, pull the bedding down."

"Paninya," Alphonse said, hating that it sounded like a whine, even to him.

Paninya readied the bedding and Major General Armstrong settled Alphonse into the sheets, far more carefully than he would've expected. "There," she said, nodding. "I'll tell Franco that you two will be needing something to eat, and some fresh clothing in your case, Alphonse."

"Thank you," Alphonse said. "Where can Paninya sleep?"

"There's another room next door," Major Armstrong said, giving them a look. "I assume you can control yourself?" she asked Paninya directly.

"Y-yes, ma'am." She didn't quite salute, but Paninya did stiffen sharply at the question.

Major General Armstrong stared down her nose at Paninya for a few long seconds. Snorting, she said, "All right. I'll leave you both to it. As soon as my brother comes in, I'll send him to you." She pointed toward a door. "That's a bathroom, in case you need it." Spinning on her heel, she walked toward the door. "Rest up," she said, "you'll probably need it."

"Wait, Major General!" Alphonse reached out a bony hand to her. "What happened? Colonel Mustang…is he…?"

He caught a glimpse of Major General Armstrong's profile. "Yes," she said. "Mustang's dead."

Even though he'd suspected, Alphonse couldn't help but slump back into the bed, letting out a soft gasp of protest.

"I cannot tell you anything more, Alphonse. I don't know anything more." Armstrong sighed, bowing her head so her hair slithered over her shoulder, blocking her even more from view. Suddenly she straightened again, a glint of sapphire blue eye stabbing at him. "With him out of the way, it makes it that much easier for me to become fuhrer." Without waiting for Alphonse's reaction, she strode out of the room, her boots tapping down the hallway.

Paninya sank down next to the footboard of Alphonse's bed. "So, he was your friend?" She twisted around, folding her legs tailor-fashion. "That man who died?"

"Ed would say he was a bastard," Alphonse said, too tired even to cry. "But he always treated me well. He was Ed's commanding officer. He was there…he fought during the Promised Day."

Leaning against the footboard, Paninya asked, "What's that?"

How to tell her? What should he tell her? Well, she was already used to some of the weirdness, right? "Did Winry ever tell you about why I was in a suit of armor?"

Paninya shrugged. "I thought it was a full suit prosthesis. I didn't expect to see," she waved a hand at him. "You looking like this."

"That's because I wasn't a live body inside the suit. I was just a soul, attached to the suit."

Blinking a few times, Paninya asked, "What?"

Alphonse gave her a weak smile. "It's a long story. I'm not sure if I'm up for it, but I'll do my best."

X X X


	9. Can't Stand the Rain

**Chapter Eight: Can't Stand the Rain**  
_I can't stand the rain 'gainst my window,  
Bringing back sweet memories. _  
**The Commitments, I Can't Stand the Rain**

The apartment was dark when Riza unlocked the door. She saw a pair of glowing eyes, but they no longer gave her any pause. Selim Bradley – Pride – was gone, or at least no longer a threat, and not likely to be lurking in her shadows any more. It didn't mean the thin scar on her right cheek didn't sting in a sudden, sharp flare, but Riza ignored it, knowing those eyes belonged to her dog.

Black Hayate greeted her, his tail wagging slowly, his head cocked to the left. He let out a questioning whine as Riza managed to get the door closed and locked. She slid down the wall, her butt landing on the floor, her legs sprawled to either side. Black Hayate came up between her legs, putting a cautious paw on her thigh. Sweeping him up into a hug, Riza buried her face against his clean fur, finally letting loose the tears she'd held in since she'd walked away from the hospital grounds.

It wasn't supposed to happen like that. Something had gone wrong – something had gone terribly wrong. She couldn't believe Roy would've caused that transmutation, one big enough to take out the men holding him captive. He would've shared that information – she would've known if he was going to do something that – shaking her head fiercely, Riza tried to tell herself it couldn't be true, but she knew better than anyone else how flame alchemy worked. Those bodies belonged to men who wouldn't be coming back from the dead, not like Maria Ross.

Riza had known for years that Roy could die – that either of them could be killed at any point in their lives. They were soldiers, after all; and Roy had detractors who'd wanted him, if not dead, at least out of the way. His mercurial climb in the ranks had not gone unnoticed. And then there'd been the scarred Ishbalan, who'd tried to wreak vengeance against all State Alchemists, decimating their ranks. Roy could've been killed by him, Major Armstrong and Edward, too, though they'd managed to survive their various encounters with Scar. In the end, Scar had swung to their side, helping Edward and her talk Roy out of destroying the homunculus known as Envy.

Shuddering, Riza tried not to think about the past, but she couldn't help it. Roy's smirk was painted on the inside of her eyelids, his low chuckle kept sounding in her ears. Riza sobbed, not wanting to think she'd never hear that chuckle again in life. Was this how he'd felt, knowing Brigadier General Hughes was dead? That he'd never talk about how wonderful his little girl was? Never tease Roy about needing a wife? Riza doubled over, letting Black Hayate go so she could gasp for air.

Her dog leaned against her, rubbing his shoulder against her upper arm, licking her wet cheek repeatedly. Riza couldn't comfort him, couldn't tell him she'd be all right. She wasn't sure she would be. So much of her life had been tied up to Roy's, now she felt like a balloon with a broken string, tossed every which way by the wind. Roy said he'd made a deal, that they'd all be safe, no matter what, but Riza wondered how true that would be, considering the circumstances.

"Oh, god," she whispered, tearing her fingers through her hair. Havoc was still confined to his chair, though Dr. Marcoh had started his rehabilitative healing and therapy. If someone came after him, would he be able to protect himself? She wondered if she should call Breda, have him check in on Havoc, keep an eye on him. Or would it matter? With Roy being dead, would anyone come after them?

Black Hayate stiffened against her, letting out a growl so low, Riza felt rather than heard it. She sniffed, wiping her eyes quickly on her sleeve and blinking away the remaining tears. Reaching for the pistol holstered in the small of her back, she gathered her feet under her to rise. The other hand gun was empty of bullets, fired at the hospital at Roy's command. Nearly choking on his name, even though she just thought it, Riza forced herself under control. The colonel had given her his last order, and she intended to follow through.

Motioning Black Hayate to sit, Riza thumbed the safety of her pistol off. She pushed to her feet, using the wall behind her back as a bolster. Tilting her head, she held her breath – the better to listen to whatever alerted Black Hayate. Her neighbors were often loud and drunk, though tonight, everything seemed quiet. She wondered if they were listening to the radio, if they'd heard the news. If they'd want to ask her questions about it the next time she saw them. If they, like so many other people in Central City, might be celebrating Roy's death with a bottle or two of beer.

A soft 'thud' in the hallway made her spine stiffen. Next to her calves, Black Hayate lowered his head, his ears flicking back, then forward. Outside, in the hall, someone was trying to be quiet. Holding her breath, Riza started counting backward from one hundred; a trick her grandfather had taught her to keep her cool.

Still, the knock on the door made her flinch in reaction. Easing closer to it, Riza lowered her voice. "Who is it?"

"Ed," he answered, "and a friend."

Riza didn't reengage the safety yet. She had to open the door to make sure of her visitors – no spyholes in the apartment doors - catching a whiff of smoke and something more noxious. Edward's face glowed and a couple of blisters showed on his sooty skin. Blood smeared across his cheeks and forehead. Winry seemed to be holding him upright, even though her countenance showed her own exhaustion. Stepping aside to allow them into her apartment, Riza closed and locked the door behind them after they'd entered.

Edward coughed into his fist. "Didn't know where else to go," he choked.

Black Hayate whined, wagging his tail at their visitors as Riza said automatically, "You're welcome here." She didn't like the way Winry peered at her, with such a worried expression, and forced a smile. "Come in and sit down." Slipping her gun back into its holster, Riza led them to the tiny dining area, waving them into the chairs. "I'll make some tea."

If not for the strangeness of it all, Riza could almost pretend this was a social call. Then she'd catch a glimpse of Edward out of the corner of her eye; his clothes pocked from cinders and ash. And Winry looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and too-pale skin. That had to be the result of something happening prior to her arrival in Central City, Riza thought as she rummaged through the cupboard. Finally, finding some cookies that weren't stale, she set them on the table between the two kids.

Winry sat stiffly, staring at her hands, with her fingers twined together. Edward had laid most of his upper body on the table, his eyes closed, almost as if he slept. He asked, "How can you stand it, First Lieutenant?"

"Ed!" Winry breathed.

Riza nodded, having half-expected the question, or one similar. "I have my orders," she said, finding some teabags in a tin as the kettle on the stove started to whistle.

"Orders?" Peeling himself up off the table, Edward focused on her.

"Yes. Some of them pertain to you and your brother." Riza gestured at Winry. "Had we been aware you would come to Central, rather than the brothers go to you, arrangements would've been made for you, as well."

"Arrangements?" Winry asked, sounding shrill.

Riza busied herself with a teapot while she answered. "It was always Colonel Mustang's plan to make sure Edward and Alphonse left Central City safely." She poured the hot water over the teabags, releasing sweetly-scented steam before she placed the lid on the pot. Keeping her voice steady, she asked, "Do you still have your resignation papers, Edward?"

He sighed, taking a cookie, but not eating it, just turning it in his fingers. "I left the file at the hospital."

Her mouth twitched. "I'm sure Alphonse's room will be searched." She had duplicates, of course; Roy had made sure of it, but they'd be considered suspect once the file was located at the hospital. "Did Major Armstrong meet up with you?"

"Yeah…wait, you knew about that?" Clenching the cookie in his hand, Edward turned it into crumbs.

"I said arrangements had been made. There was no way for Dr. Marcoh to come to Alphonse in the hospital, so Major Armstrong was supposed to transport both you boys to someplace where no one would expect you to be."

"Where is that?" Winry asked, when Edward didn't say anything.

Riza set the teapot on the table, along with some cups and spoons. "I'm sorry, I don't have any cream," she offered, and Edward nodded, fighting a yawn that turned into a cough. "They were supposed to go to Dr. Knox's house. It's a safe place, and no one would suspect them being there." She poured tea into the cups, not even waiting to put sugar in hers before sipping. The warm, slightly bitter liquid steadied her. "Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned."

"They sure as hell didn't," Edward said, almost in a growl.

"No." Riza fought to keep her tears back.

"So, what now?" Winry looked from Edward to Riza.

"We will regroup," Riza said.

"So, Al's with Dr. Knox?" Edward rubbed his chin, smearing some cookie crumbs on his face.

"Maybe." Riza set down her cup, spreading her hands. "Since Major Armstrong got involved after Colonel Mustang's death, I am unsure where Alphonse is."

"You have a way to reach Major Armstrong, though, right?" Edward searched her eyes.

"I do, but not tonight."

"But," Edward started to say more, leaning across the table.

"Ed." Winry touched his shoulder, and he sank mostly back into his chair, giving her a narrow-eyed glance. "Al's okay. We have to think that. And there's been enough today."

"Winry," Edward said, packing a lot of emotion into her name.

"If Miss Riza says not tonight, then we have to wait." She said it firmly enough that Edward fell back into his seat with an irritated sigh.

"Fine, we'll wait."

Winry sighed, too, turning to Riza. "If it's all right with you, can we spend the night here?"

She blinked, surprised that Winry asked, and nodded. "Of course. My bed's big enough, you and I can share it, and Edward can have the couch. You can borrow some of my clothes to wear, if you want."

"Thanks." Winry's relief was obvious.

"I can transmute mine clean, I just need a piece of paper and a pen," Edward offered. "And someone to hold the paper while I draw." He fixed Winry with a steady gaze, and bobbed his head slightly when her mouth quirked.

"I can do that," she said.

Riza reined in her need to mourn, tamping it down, not looking at either of them for a second. She concentrated on her tea, taking another drink of the bitter liquid.

"This isn't too much trouble, is it, First Lieutenant?"

Edward's question made Riza start. His intense gaze bored into her, as if he could read all the secrets she hid within herself. Riza didn't want to gulp out an answer; wanted to stay steady. "No, Edward. I said you and Winry were welcome here. I meant it."

The faint downturn of his mouth said he didn't believe her, but Edward nodded jerkily. "I'm sorry," he said, in a way that could break her heart if she let it. He rubbed his hand over his hair, the moment lost. "Winry and I could use a shower. Well, I know I could." He slanted a look toward the young woman, who nodded. "Is that okay, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, of course. I'll get out some washcloths and towels." Riza got to her feet before they could stop her, needing to escape, if only for a few seconds, the pity she thought she saw in their eyes.

X X X

Outside, thunder grumbled, a prelude to a spectacular storm that rivaled the one going on inside of Frank Archer's office. The reports had been filtering in from afternoon through evening of the events at the hospital. Archer listened to every news show he could, having his adjutant provide him information on those he missed. He read the preliminary reports from the soldiers who had been at the hospital when the explosion happened, and made notes in the margins of what he should ask when he spoke to these men directly.

There had been too many deaths, and Archer thought Kimblee'd had a hand in extending the collateral damage. The idea that Colonel Mustang would've attacked the hospital providing care to both his men and him seemed ludicrous, though Archer thought that all alchemists had a streak of insanity running through them. Kimblee definitely included. Archer wasn't sure if he could keep the man on a short leash, especially after today. He'd given Kimblee some leniency to act, and look what happened. Six soldiers were dead, including Mustang, and civilians were hurt in the building where they were supposed to be recuperating.

And Kimblee was walking around on the streets with a free pass at the moment.

Archer drummed his fingers on his desktop. Kimblee's personal agenda made him a problem; his alchemy made him a threat. He'd read up on the Crimson Lotus Alchemist after Kimblee'd dropped into his life, and realized just what kind of tiger he had by the tail. There were so many problems in dealing with this man, and Archer was sure he didn't want to be the one trying to rein him in. Unfortunately, he knew he'd need to, otherwise his own bid for the candidacy for fuhrer could also be threatened by his acquaintanceship with Kimblee.

Sighing, Archer twined his fingers together, leaning his hands against his chin. The question would be how to nullify Kimblee without losing enough men to have anyone take notice. And, considering Kimblee's alchemy, and his violent tendencies, that could prove far more difficult than expected. A sniper might be able to do it, but there were questions regarding that, too; who could he trust? Could he actually trust anyone in Central City? And, despite soldiers being trained to follow orders, people were people, and often had their own agendas.

If Mustang hadn't been killed, he might've been a help. Archer pulled his file out, opening it again. He studied the information on Mustang's command. Except for Edward Elric, they'd all been hand-picked from Grumman's command. Mustang had started out with the same five people, and four of them were still in the military, and three had been under Mustang's command up until this afternoon. And one, Archer pulled out a particular sheet of paper, was a sniper.

He studied the information sheet on First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye and nodded to himself. Maybe there was a way to make this work out yet.

Closing the file, Archer tucked it into his briefcase. It was definitely time to go home for the night, and let everything settle. And then, he'd contact Lieutenant Hawkeye, feel her out for a possible transfer into his staff.

Yes, that might just do.

Getting to his feet, Archer slung his briefcase over his shoulder, heading out of his office. Pausing in the antechamber, he nodded to his adjutant. "Captain, I'm leaving for the evening."

"Would you want a car, sir?" Williams glanced toward the window, suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning.

"Yes, thank you, Williams. And you should go home, too."

He needed a whiskey with his supper tonight, and there had to be a place to find one here in town.

X X X

The Major General was as good as her word, sending up food and some actual clothes for Alphonse. Paninya didn't tell him how cute he was, fussing over what had been provided – "Don't they have anything for normal-sized people?" He'd made a face at the food, too. Paninya'd been served a sandwich and soup, while he was offered bread sopped in broth and a glass of milk.

When he tried to complain about that, the man who'd brought the tray of food just raised his eyebrows and said, "Olivier Milla Armstrong is the head of the household. What she requests is my duty. If you do not approve of your meal, you have my permission to take it up with her, however, I will not be providing you with any alternatives unless Major General Armstrong agrees."

Alphonse scowled at the bread and broth, finally saying, "Tell her thank you, sir," and folded his fingers around his spoon so he could eat. The eyeing he gave Paninya's sandwich, though, almost made her want to eat in the next room.

Meals finally over, and Alphonse exhausted, Paninya made her excuses to go to bed herself. She yawned broadly, stretching her arms and rolling her back. "It's late." And she'd been on a train for the past three days, and had to watch an explosion where people died, and run away from friends. She didn't want to think about where Winry and Edward were. Safe. They'd better be safe. Then there was everything Alphonse had said, about being a suit of armor for years. Her head hurt from everything. "I should go to my bed."

"Can't you stay?" Alphonse slurred, his head wobbling slightly. "My bed's big enough."

Paninya remembered the stern expression on the Major General's face and shuddered. "I don't think the scary woman would like that!" Her glare was scarier than Mr. Dominic's. Thinking of him made her stomach hurt.

"What is it?"

Biting her lip, she raised her head, meeting Alphonse's eyes. "You notice too much."

"Come on, Paninya, tell me," he wheedled. "You look sad."

Paninya puffed out her cheeks. "I'm worried about Winry." There, that'd send him off on a different track.

His face pinching up, Alphonse said, "She'll be okay. She's with Ed."

"Are you asking me, or telling me?" Paninya glanced across the room at the automail case. "The last I saw, Winry was on the floor with Ed next to her." Maybe she shouldn't have said that to Alphonse, but it was true. "Ed said he'd take care of her."

"He will, too." Alphonse said it like there was absolutely no doubt. "I don't know if I should tell you." Leaning toward her a little, he lowered his voice. "I think he loves her."

"That'd make Garfiel happy." Paninya grinned, imagining his reaction.

Alphonse shifted in the bed, stretching out his bony legs. "We fought over her when we were kids, and I beat him, but I think he won anyway."

"Do you love her, too?"

He turned his attention to her, and Paninya wondered why her mouth went dry. "She's like my sister."

"Oh." Paninya ducked her head, hoping that she wasn't grinning too broadly. "Okay."

"Paninya," Alphonse said, and she peeped at him from the corner of her eye, wondering if he was actually blushing.

The door opened with a crash, and someone bellowed, "Alphonse Elric!" Paninya nearly fell off the bed, shying backward, and Alphonse squeaked in shock, clutching his chest as Major Armstrong came through the doorway. "I am so happy you are here in my home!"

Panting, Alphonse tried to right himself as Paninya sat up again. "M-Major Armstrong." Hopeful, he asked, "Are Ed and Winry with you?"

The large man's face fell as he pulled up a chair, sitting beside the bed. "No. I am sorry. I did not find them. But I have been listening to the news, and there has been no mention of them in any way."

"No news is good news," Paninya offered tentatively, getting the major's attention.

He brightened immediately. "You are correct, young lady!"

Alphonse clenched the sheets, his eyes starting to water. "So you don't know where they are?" Sniffing, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Damn it!"

"Here, Alphonse." Major Armstrong handed him a handkerchief. "You have had many traumatic experiences over just a handful of days. Your emotions are out of control right now. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

Alphonse swiped the handkerchief across his face and blew his nose. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's just…"

"I understand." His hand spreading almost all the way across Alphonse's skinny shoulders, Major Armstrong gave him a gentle pat. "I apologize that I do not have any additional information about the location of your brother and Miss Rockbell. I do believe them to be safe, even if I have nothing more concrete than a general feeling."

Shoulders heaving, Alphonse said, "But Paninya said Winry was hurt!"

She knew she shouldn't have said it, but Major Armstrong held his palm up, his blue eyes narrowing. "Alphonse Elric, you do have faith in your brother, am I correct?"

"Well," Alphonse blinked, a tear running down his cheek. His expression cleared a little, like the sun peeping through clouds. "Yes," he said finally, but it didn't sound quite as determined as Paninya expected.

"Then we must trust he and Miss Rockbell will be all right." Major Armstrong's moustache twitched. "And you both should be going to sleep, in your own beds."

Paninya ducked her head, feeling heat on her cheeks. Had he heard that? Rubbing the back of her neck, she climbed off the bed. "Yes, sir!" She picked up her suitcase and the automail case, both. "Good night, Major. Thanks again for letting us stay here. Good night, Al."

"Night, Paninya," Alphonse said softly.

"Good night, Miss Paninya." Major Armstrong rose from his chair to escort Paninya out of Alphonse's room. "Pleasant dreams, Alphonse Elric."

"You, too, Major," Alphonse yawned in response.

She glanced back under his beefy arm to see Alphonse sliding down into the bed. As if he'd been waiting for her to look, he winked. Paninya froze – had she actually seen that? What did Alphonse mean, winking at her? Or had he been closing his eyes?

"Miss Paninya?"

She jerked upright, a huge grin plastered across her face. "Sorry!" Hurrying into her room, she set down the cases. "I was," with a shake of her head, Paninya went on, "I was thinking. Good night, Major."

"Do not worry, Miss Paninya. I will endeavor to locate Edward Elric and Miss Rockbell throughout the night." He all but clicked his heels together. "You will see, they will both be fine."

"Thanks," Paninya said, wondering from the furrows in his brow, which of them he was trying to convince. "Good night, sir." She nodded one last time before closing the door between them.

X X X

The boom of thunder jerked Edward awake, knocking him halfway off the couch from the shock of it. His heart thudded against his ribs, a counterpoint to the rain he could hear lashing the windowpanes of the little apartment. With a soft groan, he swung his legs off the couch. He set his feet on the floor and burrowed his fingers in his hair, still feeling lopsided from the lack of his right arm. The thunder grumbled more softly, leaving Edward to his thoughts.

If there was a way to thank the storm, he might have. Edward couldn't remember everything about the nightmare the thunder had woken him out of, but what he could recall made him nauseous. Something about Pride, and how he'd forced his own way into the homunculus to beat it inside of its own body. Edward dropped his hand to his right shoulder, rubbing it as thunder grumbled outside the apartment, making the building shudder.

Storms made his ports ache, and none as worse as when he was without an automail limb. His shoulder throbbed, keeping time with his heart, a thunder of pain contained within his body. His leg port pulsed along his shoulder, letting Edward know just how bad a storm it had to be. He'd been too exhausted, physically and otherwise, to pay attention to the warning twinges earlier; not that there was much he could do about the actual weather. Preparing for it, that would've been good.

"Shit," he mumbled.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the stark room despite the pulled curtains, highlighting a pale figure sitting in a hard, wooden chair pulled from the dining table. Holding the curtain back, she faced the window and the rain shattering against the glass. Edward's heart beat faster until he recognized her.

"Winry, what are you doing?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

She turned, as slow as if she moved underwater, a frown creasing her forehead before the flash of lightning faded. "I couldn't sleep."

"Are you okay?" Of course she wasn't, no more okay than he was, with the news she'd given and what they'd witnessed today. A draft from somewhere strolled down Edward's spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake. He could just see Winry's bangs flutter from the breeze blowing through badly-caulked window frame. It hurt to even look at her, pale as a ghost, slumped in despair.

Winry shrugged, spreading her hands. "I didn't want to wake Miss Riza, so I came out here." She tilted her head. "Did I wake you?"

Edward waved her off. "No, the storm." He grimaced, hunching his right shoulder.

"Your ports." Winry stood up, the lightning strobing around her so her movements seemed unreal. Edward blinked a couple of times, surprised to find her in front of him, her hands on his shoulders. "You're cold, too." She squeezed her hands, and made a face. "And you're nothing but knots." Sitting next to him, she made him face away from her, digging her thumbs into the muscles around the shoulder port.

Pain shot through his body, a lightning bolt erupting from the pressure she put near the port. Edward hissed, "Damn it, Winry!"

"Shh," she snapped, "Miss Riza's trying to sleep."

"She's not sleeping, either?" He craned his neck, trying to look at Winry over his shoulder.

Winry pushed his cheek so he was facing forward. "Stop moving." Once she was sure he wasn't going to turn back around, she started massaging around the port again. "Since we're not sleeping, maybe she isn't." Her fingers probed a sore spot, making Edward wince, not realizing he'd grunted until she hushed him. "Your back is a wreck. How are you even walking?"

"Do you really want an answer?" he growled, trying to ignore the warmth of Winry's breath on the back of his neck. She smelled good, too, too good, even with the pain she inflicted on him. His penis twitched, and Edward bit his lip, mentally reciting the table of elements. He did not want to explain to Winry why his stupid dick was acting up.

Concentrating on keeping his body under control, Edward nearly forgot that he'd asked her a question by the time Winry said, "No." She kept prodding and poking and rubbing, making him uncomfortable enough it helped him master his stupid involuntary reactions. Finally, Winry smoothed her palms up his neck and back down, resting them on his shoulders. "That's the best I can do for now. I should probably put you on the floor and do your legs, too."

Edward grimaced, shaking his head, not wanting to put any pressure on his groin area. Not wanting Winry anywhere near that part of his body, well, not right now. Certainly not in First Lieutenant Hawkeye's apartment. "I'm in enough pain, thanks."

"Hmph!" Winry patted his shoulders before getting to her feet. "You should get some sleep."

He twisted, looking up at her, blinking as lightning flared outside the windows. The word escaped him without him even thinking about it. "Stay." Edward raised his hand, nearly dropping it back into his lap, then resting it against the curve of her hip. "Please." Warm, she was so warm under his palm.

Winry tilted her head, hair slithering over her shoulder. "Ed?"

"You can take the couch. I'll sleep on the floor." It was better than some of the places he'd slept before.

Taking a deep breath, Winry said, "Scoot over, Ed. There's enough room for both of us."

Edward hesitated, then shifted his weight, making room for Winry. She sat down next to him, patting his leg, the sensation of her hand on his thigh sending a thrill right up into his groin. Maybe this was a really bad idea. He couldn't take it back, though, not with Winry sitting next to him. She shifted her weight, looking at him over her shoulder.

Edward couldn't resist her warmth, leaning closer. He didn't know when his hand moved up to touch her cheek, couldn't remember whose mouth touched whose first. Winry's mouth was hotter than the rest of her, her lips chapped, and tasting faintly of tea and cookies. "Hnnnn," Edward moaned, pulling back so he could take a breath.

Winry leaned her forehead against his cheek, panting softly. "Ed, I," she let her voice trail off.

Edward looped a strand of hair back behind her ear. No earrings, he needed to give them back to her. Where'd he left them? Damn it, were they still at the hospital? If he'd lost them – fuck!

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he mumbled gruffly. Maybe she wouldn't notice he didn't have her earrings any more. Yeah, like that would happen. She'd ask, eventually, and he'd have to tell her, unless he could figure out a way to replace them. "We'd better try and get some sleep."

"Okay." Winry started to turn away from him, but Edward caught hold of her chin, holding her in place so he could give her another kiss. "What's that for?"

"Just," Edward sighed. "Because, okay?" Because he really couldn't say why he'd kissed her, just that he wanted to, he needed to. And hopefully, his stupid dick wouldn't betray him during the night.

Winry lay down at the edge of the couch, with Edward fitting himself in behind her. Her butt pressed against his groin, and he bit back a moan. This was a fucking stupid idea, he thought, even as he nuzzled the back of her neck. Winry shivered, and he felt it all the way along her body. "Winry," he muttered softly.

She squirmed around so she was facing him, her eyes searching his face. Lightning struck somewhere in town, the brightness illuminating the room even through the closed curtain. Winry touched his cheek, her hand hot against his skin, her fingers moving up to touch the piece of sticking plaster she'd used to bandage his forehead.

"Hnn," Edward grunted, his skull bouncing off the back of the couch.

"Easy," Winry whispered before kissing him. Her tongue brushed over the seam of his mouth, and he opened it for her. Fuck, he wished he had both hands. Shifting his weight, Edward managed to wriggle his arm free, barely disturbing Winry's mouth from his. He pushed his hips up against hers. Winry broke the kiss to snicker.

"What?"

"You." Grinning, she rubbed his stomach, making the skin beneath the shirt quiver. Her hand kept sliding down his body.

Edward closed his eyes, biting his lip to keep from moaning out loud. Her hand moved over his dick through the cotton of his boxers, and his hips pumped in reaction. "Fuck, Winry," he breathed. He kissed her, hard, so their teeth clicked together. Winry squeezed his shaft, and Edward grunted in her mouth. He managed to wrap his arm around her waist, making her shift with him as he wriggled, so he was on top of her. Winry's knees came up, cradling his hips, and Edward brushed the hair out of her face. He mumbled her name and kissed her again.

This wasn't any better than Briggs, maybe even worse. First Lieutenant Hawkeye was in the next room, instead of Alphonse. She'd hear any noise they made. The storm outside might cover up some of it, but not much. No matter how he considered it logically, though, his dick was pressed up against Winry, despite the layers of clothes between them, and the sensations ran through his body like an electric current. Edward kissed her softly, even though his body screamed at him to move, move, thrust and shove and find some sort of release. Winry stared up at him through the kiss, running her hands up and down his ribs, stalling on his hips. Her hands swept in, resting lightly on the upper part of his butt.

Letting out a shaky breath, Edward whispered, "I want you."

Winry kissed him, and her hands moved down to squeeze his butt. Edward squeaked, his groin bumping hard into hers. A flash of lightning lit up her mischievous smile. "I want you, too." Her nipples poked up through her nightshirt. Edward gave in to temptation, and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing that nipple between his fingers. Her back arched, and Edward grinned at her breathless whine. He rubbed his crotch between her open legs. Winry gasped, her eyes fluttering closed. Edward kissed her again, moaning into her mouth when she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.

Breathing hard, Edward closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of Winry's neck. He remembered the smear of blood he'd left behind when he'd done this earlier, at the hospital. Damn, the hospital. His throat closed, and he gasped hard, wriggling free of Winry's embrace.

"What is it?" She sat up, laying a hand on his armless shoulder.

Edward shuddered. "This…this isn't right, Winry." His erection flagged, completely gone. "I'm sorry." Ducking his head, he glanced at her through his bangs, but couldn't look at her face on. "I don't…I can't, Winry. Sorry." Exhaling through his nose, he leaned back into the couch, covering his face with his hand. His one, fucking hand. He laughed, sharp and low into his palm.

He wished he had his automail arm – lying on his right side without it hurt in a particularly bone-numbing way. He remembered Pinako telling him he was crazy – the nerves were all inside the port – but Edward still couldn't sleep on his right side without the arm. He could still hear the old hag cackling at him. How the hell could she not have woken back up? Where'd her soul go, anyway? Why didn't it go back into her body, like everyone else's? Pinako was too stubborn to let her soul leave her body. How did it escape? Why the hell had Mustang started that fire?

His breath hitched.

Winry leaned farther, peering up into his face. "Are you crying?"

Edward wanted to say 'no', but his throat clogged, his eyes burned, and he could feel his voice box bobbing in his throat. Pressing her forehead against his, Winry wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. This wasn't supposed to happen – he was supposed to comfort her, not the other way around. He tried to get his control back, but with the rain, and the throbbing in his ports, and thinking about Pinako, and Mustang, he couldn't help it. Letting out a sob, he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

X X X

The summer storm raged on outside the window. By now, any flames left over from the hospital explosion would have been extinguished by the downpour. Kimblee sighed, tapping his pen on the notepad on the desk. At the tip of the pen bloomed an illustration, a scene from his youth, and Ishbal, with the Flame Alchemist snapping his fingers and wreaking havoc.

Setting down the pen, Kimblee drywashed his hands, his eyes narrowing slightly at the pain in his knuckles. Why would he have arthritis now? This body should be self-sufficient, instantly healing. Perhaps he needed to refuel it. Something to consider. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms out in front of him, hearing his knuckles pop. The drawing caught his attention again, and Kimblee turned the note book around, thinking the drawing would've been better had the pages not had lines. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers, and he hadn't bought an artpad, but a notepad.

Kimblee reached for his pen, adding some hash lines to the smoke clouds, making them darker. He eyed Flame's portrait, thinking it wasn't a bad likeness, though he could probably do better. He wished he'd had a better look at Mustang's gloves. Flame alchemy intrigued him, but he could find no records of the research that went into mastering fire.

Though he was primarily trained in alchemic explosions, there was something to be said for a good fire, and the way it could humble, or even destroy, a group of people. Or even an entire civilization. There were stories of old, great cities eaten by flames, the inhabitants driven out or roasted, depending on the tales or the teller. Today's fire had done just that, in his eyes. Too bad he hadn't had a chance to speak to Flame beforehand, but, sometimes, even with the best laid plans, not everything happened accordingly. It would have been exquisite to let Flame know that he was the one who'd orchestrated his death.

Too bad it had come too soon. Kimblee frowned, thinking of the shooter who had taken Flame's life. The man should have suffered more, not been allowed the release of a bullet. He had his guesses as to the shooter's identity, well, one guess that he figured had to be fairly accurate. Since she'd taken his target away, he'd have to focus his attention on her. But that would have to wait. Riza Hawkeye was of less importance than the State Alchemists who'd participated in the Promised Day.

Still, even though she'd thwarted part of his enjoyment of the fire yesterday, there were other bonuses Kimblee could appreciate. Edward Elric's reaction to the explosion was one he cherished. It wasn't quite as delectable as how the Flame Alchemist might've responded, but still, it was lovely, seeing the impotent rage and the horror stamped across Fullmetal's young face.

Kimblee doodled Edward's face at the bottom of the notepad, twisted in fury, as he thought about the rumors he'd heard concerning Mustang and his youngest subordinate. Perhaps those office tales were a matter of wishful thinking on the behalf of the original teller. It couldn't be said that the Fullmetal Alchemist wasn't attractive, and Kimblee could understand why someone might fantasize about him, but Fullmetal himself seemed altogether too charmed by his lovely mechanic to be interested in an old man like Mustang.

_Old man? Aren't you older than the Flame Alchemist?_

Pride's spiteful question rose up in his mind, as if he'd thought it himself. Kimblee smiled, willing to play along with the homunculus, or what remained of it, living within him. "And you are older than all three of us together, multiplied many times." He allowed Pride to have a glimpse of the area they were in – a richly appointed room, with flocked wallpaper, a washstand in the corner, near the closet door, a dresser with a mirror, the desk he was drawing at, and a four-poster bed, with posts carved out of a dense wood, so rich and dark, it looked like coal. The bedding was equally sumptuous, in a red that reminded him again of Fullmetal, and Mustang's dancing flames.

_Where are we?_

"Someplace entertaining, someplace that would be comfortable to pass the night." Kimblee turned his attention back to the dainty teacup sitting above the blotter on the desk. He picked it up, inhaling the delicate fragrance of the tea. Inside him, Pride shuddered at the taste he allowed the homunculus. "A discerning man would appreciate it, Pride," Kimblee said.

_As you pointed out, I'm not a man, I'm a memory._

"So bitter." Kimblee took another sip of his tea. "Maybe you need some sugar, too, to sweeten you up."

The 'sound' Pride made rumbled through Kimblee's body. He ignored it, hearing something he'd been listening for, and got up to answer the door. A pretty young woman stood there, with long, blond hair and blue eyes that appeared guileless, though, beneath that apparent honestly lurked a harder sheen. Still, she ducked her head and offered a slightly bashful smile.

The likeness wasn't uncanny, but good enough. Kimblee smiled at her, offering her his hand. "Good evening, Winry," he said, and ushered the young woman he'd hired for the evening's entertainment into his room.

X X X


End file.
